Batman: Year One
by MelasZepheos
Summary: Gotham's beloved son returns to the city after a decade away, promising big changes. Meanwhile, Police Lieutenant Gordon is struggling in a department mired in corruption. One thing's for sure, Gotham is about to change forever.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:-** Because I hate myself, I have another ridiculously over ambitious project.

Chapter One: Gotham City

Gotham City in January is cold.

A lot of people think that Gotham is cold all year round. They picture our city and they think of rain pouring down between the buildings, men running huddled under tan overcoats and women with fur lined jackets and butlers holding umbrellas. They picture prostitutes shivering on street corners and little children in oversized sweaters.

The truth is that Gotham's weather, like every other part of it, is a matter of extremes. In the summer months the towering skyscrapers trap the heat down with us and let us roast on the streets in heatwaves like an Arizona desert. In winter the snow piles up so thick you sometimes wade knee deep in it. The seasons shift from one to another with all the grace and elegance of a semi changing gears.

But Gotham in January is cold.

I'm in the station house watching a news report about a prodigal son returning. No one expected it, in fact the rumour circulating was that he had been dead for years. But Bruce Wayne was finally coming back to Gotham. As he stepped through the gates to the Arrival Lounge at Gotham International a thousand cameras were there to meet him, the broad smile on his face putting to rest all those reports of a troubled childhood, a childhood stolen.

I sighed and turned away from the report. We'd known about Bruce Wayne's return for a while now. Commissioner Loeb had been riding all of us to get our act together and start cleaning up the streets for when the golden boy returned. Of course he didn't really mean for us to clean anything up, just for the evidence of the department's corruption to be swept away so that if Mister Wayne was to make good on his promise to help clean up Gotham then the police would be unaffected.

There's already trouble on that front, and it's aimed at me. Schell's on probation. I put him there. I knew I shouldn't have, and I definitely shouldn't have given the entire bullpen a rant about taking bribes. Only one who paid any attention to me was Bullock, and that was mostly just to laugh. Now I've got Flass watching my every move, and I know he's reporting to the commissioner as well.

A folder lands on my desk and I look up to see Sarah standing there, giving me her patented smile. "You're gonna love this one Gordon," she says. "Guy in a giant red mask. Dresses like he's going to a Victorian dinner."

"You always give me the weird ones," I say it with mock indignation. We've been dancing around one another for a month or so now. Not much more than banter between coworkers.

"You like the weird ones."

"The weird ones are the best way to prove yourself." In actual fact the 'weird ones' are the only chance I ever have of putting someone away. The bangers give their money to the underbosses, the underbosses pay off the bosses, the bosses pay off the cops and the only convictions which stick are the ones Carmine Falcone or Sal Maroni personally chooses. Sarah's look tells me she knows all of this.

As I rise to grab my coat and get out there Grogan steps out of his office and fixes me from across the bullpen. "You going somewhere Jimmy?"

I hate being called Jimmy. He knows that. "Got a new case. Some nut in a mask and hood."

"Sounds like you'll need backup. Take Flass with you."

I'm sure he can hear my teeth grinding. "Yes sir."

"Jimmy G!" Flass takes his sweet time getting out of his chair while I stand there waiting for him. "Looks like you and me are back on the beat, how's about that?"

"I'm lead on this Flass, alright with you?"

"For sure!" He claps me on the back hard enough to knock me forwards. I let the impact stager me more than it needed to. I've been doing that since the end of my first week, when it first occurred to me that someday I might have to take Flass down. Every inch of leverage I can have on him when the time comes will help. I know he won't let me take lead. He'll claim he's doing what he can to lighten my load, he'll claim it's all in favour of getting me back home to Barbara, pregnant with baby number two. And then he'll report anything I say and do right back to Loeb.

I shrug the collar of my coat up to protect against the wind and shoulder open the door to the precinct, Flass hovering at my shoulder. I hate this city. But I'm not leaving it again. Someone's got to try and do good work here before the whole city falls apart.

/|\

Brick shatters before my hands. I don't feel it. I spin at once and kick the tree stump behind me. The movements are instinctive in every way. I move from object to object. Different strengths, different weights, different give, different heights. I have the skills. I've had the skills for years now. But still something is missing. Alfred stands to one side, giving me that slightly disapproving look I've grown so used to.

I've only been back three days and already I can feel the shroud of the city falling over me, covering me in its smothering embrace. The cold is oppressive. It begs you to stay indoors, to curl up safe away from the realities of the city. I shut that out and continue through my routines. At last I finish, holding out my hand for the towel Alfred has provided. I wipe my torso off, trying to pretend I can't feel the cold on my bare skin.

The decision almost makes itself. I need to go into town. I need to see it for myself. Feel it. Understand the pulse and the hum of the streets and the people. It was the ten-eyed men who taught me to see in every way I could, to understand how my eyes could always deceive me, my other senses would be the ones to protect me, guide me.

"I'm going out tonight Alfred."

"Yes sir. Will you be requiring a driver?"

"Not tonight. I'll take the Olds." Inconspicuous. No one would ever suspect Bruce Wayne to be behind the wheel.

"As you wish Master Bruce."

Ever since I've returned it's been nearly impossible to gauge his reaction to me. We had remained in correspondence of course. I could never abandon Alfred. But in all my letters I had remained guarded as to my full plans. To sit him down that first night and tell him what I intended. I believe the expression he avoided was 'insane.'

I have no more time to think about Alfred. The night is drawing in fast and I want to be there when it hits. I need to see, to understand. I head back towards my father's house, my mind already turning over the plan for the evening.

/|\

I hit the streets by ten. The car is within a two minute sprint. I'm dressed in a jacket two sizes too big, jeans two sizes too small. My boots are old and worn almost beyond use, the sole coming clean off one of them. My shirt is dirty, stained with sweat and tobacco and garden variety mud. I've done everything I can beyond even that to conceal myself. A beanie cap hides my hair entirely. A fake scar applied across one cheek and stretching down my jaw should distract further from the important features.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I hit the East End. This is where everything goes. Where the city narrows. Where everything and anything goes for the right price. Bruce Wayne would stand out here as though the Wayne Enterprises skyscraper was dropped alongside the run down tenements. I struggle to find who I am supposed to be, to act the part as though I have lived it my entire life. There is a world of difference, I quickly realise, between discovering a part on a stage or in the confines of my own mind, and projecting it when I am on the streets.

Shoulders slumped, trudging footsteps. Conceal my height, conceal my build as much as I can. Thankfully I am not so tall as to be distinct. I pass the prostitutes, remembering at the last moment to give them the appraising leer. I see a girl who can't be fourteen, a woman maybe sixty, and every age in between. Every race, though predominantly Asian, but all with the same look in their eyes, caught between desperation and hopelessness. Already I feel I have made a mistake. I have no business being here.

One of the girls is bolder than the others, coming up to me and standing before me.

"Cheer you up?"

Her voice cracks. My mask slips a moment and I'm sure she can read the heartbreak in my eyes. I fight for the character. "Not likely. How old are you?"

"How old d'ya want?"

A man approaches from my periphery. He grabs her and throws her back to the line of girls. I straighten a little on instinct. "Excuse me?"

He glares at me, giving me a once over that clearly dismisses me. "I run a legitimate business cop. This girl's just one of my advertisers."

"I'm not a cop."

He sneers and turns to go back.

"I'm not done negotiating." I'm needling him. I don't know why. Anger is beginning to course beneath my skin, accompanied my adrenaline, preparing me for the inevitable.

"You're done," he says, turning back and sliding a hand into his pocket. It could be an innocent gesture but I see the change in his stance. Knife.

"I think you're done." It's childish. Petty. His sneer becomes a frown.

A glance to his girls, and then he moves, with a speed that surprises me, but doesn't take me entirely off guard. I saw his eyes slide to my gut. A step backwards takes me away from danger, another clears me away from the girls, so his wild swings won't catch one of them. He comes for me and I take my hands out of my pockets. I catch his next jab easily, deflecting it away and wrenching his wrist for good measure, a twist and I've thrown him into a light pole. He crumples at the bottom of it.

"Freeze!"

I do as instructed, more through shock. Flashing lights of a different sort, red and blue. Two police officers, both with guns drawn on me. I curse silently and raise my hands.

My arm burns a moment and someone shoves me hard on the shoulder. I prepare myself for the inevitable roughing up I am about to endure but my legs seem to have betrayed me. I fall to my knees and the world swims before me. Then the pain catches up with me.

My arm is on fire. More than that. My arm must have come clean off, and someone pressed a road flare to the stump. I collapse in a heap on the floor, incapable of movement. Above me the cops talk, something about 'he moved.' I go inside, calling on the training, struggling once more to remember it when it counts the most. They manhandle me, shove cuffs on me, throw me into the back of the car.

I open my eyes to see we are already driving out of the East End. I must have blacked out. Not good. The cops are on the radio now, talking about the 'crazy vet' they've picked up. The pain has subsided in my arm, not nearly as much as I would like. I twist my arms, forcing myself through another near-blackout, and the cuffs come undone, just like I was shown.

Bracing myself on the backseat I kick hard at the dividing partition, putting as much as I can into the blow. The metal grid crashes out of the frame and hits both officers hard on the backs of their heads. The car swerves and slams into a brick wall, throwing my forwards with it.

I open my eyes to hear groaning from the officers. More blackouts. The wound must be deeper than I realised. The door is open so I roll myself out and force myself up on unsteady legs, cradling my arm and trying desperately to run.

The two minute sprint takes me ten agonising minutes, leaking a trail of blood a blind man could follow. I don't know how I'm standing, I don't know what gets me back into the car. My eyes sink closed again.

/|\

I'm following up on a lead on the elusive 'Red Hood.' It's long past my shift end. It's long past time I should have kissed Barbara 2 goodnight. It's long long past the time I should have been crawling into bed and holding Barbara 1 close against me. No one reasonable is out at this hour.

The lead was a bust, as I should have guessed. The infuriating thing about the Red Hood is his complete lack of a pattern. He would pull off a bank heist that was poetry in motion, then the very next week have a shootout in a drug store that left half his own crew dead. There wasn't a sense of reason or rhyme to his actions.

And that was another thing. His crew changed every single time. And the few we caught gave such wild descriptions. According to them the Red Hood was a slight six-footer with immense muscles, too fat for the dinner jacket he wore, with a typical Texas Brooklyn accent and a mild stutter that went well with his impeccable diction. Either the Red Hood had the criminals who worked for him too scared to ever give a serious answer, or there were multiple people under that hood. And an organised crime gang meant a whole different world of work.

As I was still turning over the details an Oldsmobile tore past me going nearly twenty over the limit. I swerved to avoid it, the driver was all over the road, and stepped on the gas to try and catch it. The Crown Vic I was driving had once been the pride of the Gotham interceptor fleet, but it was about twenty years past its best, and despite that giving it a ten-year edge on the Oldsmobile the beige car ahead of me ran like it had a rocket engine strapped to the back.

I gave up the pursuit as hopeless on the roads out of Gotham, slowing back down to the speed limit and making a note to register the chase and try to find the owner of the Oldsmobile. I hadn't even been able to catch the plate it blasted past me so quick. Of course if I had had my mind on anything other than the Red Hood…

I heaved out a sigh and turned the car back round, heading in to Gotham and home.

Barbara is still awake when I open the door as softly as I can. She gives me a long suffering glare as I creep into the kitchen, cradling her belly as she stands up and waddles over. We exchange cheek kisses and she whispers, "dinner's in the fridge."

She heads right past me to bed. I suppress another sigh. This one is absolutely on me; I can't blame her for being short. I check the fridge and find meatloaf with a plate of vegetables. I hate greens, and Barbara knows it. But I'm fast heading to forty and I need to start watching what I eat. I keep myself in shape but even I've noticed the donut and beer gut starting to form.

I turn the oven on and slide the plate in to warm it quickly, shrugging out of my coat and hanging it up by the front door. Our apartment is practically so small I can reach the front door from the kitchen. I pad down the hall to Barbara 2's room, easing the door open to see her half under her covers, a book right next to her head. The sight makes me smile. She's seventeen and she's already moved on to college level textbooks. One day I'm sure she'll make better than Barbara or I ever could.

She doesn't even stir as I tiptoe across to the bed, easing the book out and marking the place carefully with the bookmark she has on the bedside table. She hates it when I fold over the pages of my own books, she'd never forgive me doing it to hers. Easing her glasses off I add them to the pile, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead and pull the covers up slightly. Barbara 2. It started as a joke when we realised the problems with naming our daughter after her mother, and then of course it stuck. I'm sure some day she's going to insist on another nickname, or possibly change her name completely, but for now I think she likes being compared to her mother, which is fine by me.

Feeling invigorated, if only slightly, I head back for my meatloaf.

/|\

I don't know why, but I always expected my death to be more impressive.

Chalk it up to the arrogance of the young, or maybe the years of training I endured. Maybe it was simply my wealth, or the manner of my parent's death, and the shockwaves it sent rippling through Gotham. Once my mission had resolved itself I perhaps envisioned glorious martyrdom. The death of the final Wayne inducing real change.

Bleeding to death in my father's armchair did not feature into my plans.

I'm almost certain an artery has been nicked. If I could call out for Alfred, if I could ring the bell by my hand, he would come and I am saved. A trained army medic. Service in the British Regiment. Another gift my father left for me when he died. Only I'm struggling to think of reasons I should be allowed to live. What have I achieved? A rich billionaire who went into the East End intending what exactly? How would I have stopped crime there? By beating up the prostitutes? By beating up that thirteen year old runaway?

I need to do more. I need to _be_ more. More than a vigilante beating up thugs. I need to scare them into never daring to hurt another living soul. I can't help Gotham as a man. I remember my lessons in theatricality. My instruction in deception, and misdirection. I need to be a symbol. Something to be feared by the underworld of this city.

A window in the study was left open. Through it a black shape swoops suddenly, flitting around the room a moment before coming to a rest on a bust of an old ancestor of mine. In the fog of blood loss I focus on it and what I see chills me to my core. A bat perches on the head of my antecedent and stares at me. I have always been afraid of bats, no matter how I tried to confront and address the fear. Childhood trauma has left an indelible mark on my psyche.

My hand finds the bell. A smile curls my lip as it rings. It is time for me to leave some marks of my own.

 **AN:-** I'm rewriting Batman! Starting from Year One, and continuing as long as I can possibly keep it up.

Most of this first story is an adaptation of Frank Miller's Year One story, hopefully updating some things, making some things a bit better, and adding in new technologies etc that might just be reasonable to expect. But more than that I'm trying to combine different comics and tellings of Batman. So some of the Telltale Games might creep in, some of the old Animated Series, and some of the different non-canon types of stories that have shown up in the Dark Knight's long history.

This entire first year will switch viewpoints between Gordon and Bruce Wayne as the two begin this mad quest and find their footing in the new Gotham. As the story progresses I might introduce more characters as viewpoint characters, or I may not. I may even phase out Gordon or Wayne every once in a while to tell different stories.

A big aspect of all these stories is going to be writing Batman/Bruce Wayne as an actual human being. He's not a superman with every answer to every conceivable problem, he's a very smart man, he's a very dedicated and very physically fit man, but he's not invincible. He can be beaten, he can be outsmarted, and especially this early in his career, he can be taken out by simple inexperience.

One of the most fascinating things right out of the gate has been the ages of certain cast members. Barbara Gordon in order to become Batgirl at the age she is stated to in the comics must be about 15-17 when Batman makes his first appearance in Gotham. But from Year One through to Dark Victory and even later she doesn't show up. So somehow Jim Gordon hasn't had his daughter with him for years? This comes down to other issues in canon, whether Barbara is his biological daughter or niece and then adopted daughter. So I changed some bits, to make her his biological daughter and introduce her as a supporting character much earlier.

Which leads eventually into another problem. Just how much of canon do I stick to? I have always considered certain events to be fixed for Batman's continuity. His first adventures as Year One, Long Halloween, Dark Victory. He first meets the Joker in a situation like Man Who Laughs. He loses Jason Todd in Death in the Family, Gotham experiences Knightfall and No Man's Land, then War games etc. Big events which chart the course of Batman's career in Gotham. But there are definite missteps along all the years of different publications. Do I adapt Killing Joke as is? Do I change it completely? The crippling of Barbara Gordon was badly handled, even Alan Moore admits that, but it set her up to become Oracle, a massively important character, and a very important representation of disabled characters in comics. Obviously questions like that are years away from this story, but decisions I make now may well influence them later.

That's about it for now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the next one will be up shortly.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:-** Chapter a day up to the end of the Year One storyline, then dunno after that.

Chapter Two: A Bat-Man

Alfred thinks I am insane. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. A month spent working on the suit, getting it to prototype stage. Some things are obvious, and easier to obtain than might be imagined. Slash and stab proof clothing that moves almost like regular fabric is readily available to bikers and law enforcement professionals. Buying it is a matter of a credit card and an internet account. The heavier duty armour comes from extreme sports riders, dirt bikers, adapting some football pads. It not only fits, but it changes my profile, adds density, adds even more bulk to my natural muscle.

I find I have to do most of my shopping in motorcycling shops, or online of course. Then it's a case of spray-painting everything to the appropriate colours. I can only imagine how difficult this sort of task might have been in the days before the internet, but now finding all of the appropriate equipment is easy, and not even especially difficult.

The cowl presents a challenge. I buy a 3D printer to sculpt some of the armour plating that will go underneath it, and the ears I have decided to add. But over the top I have to fashion my own structure for the helmet out of heavy duty rubber. It will be hot, and turning my head may prove difficult. But whether I am mad or not I refuse to go out again without appropriate armour on all of my body.

Heavy duty motorcycle boots. A full undersuit of knife-resistant clothing. An oversuit of armour plates that will protect my most vital organs from bullet. Metal gauntlets with small spikes affixed to them, motorcycle gloves. And the completed cowl. The final addition makes Alfred roll his eyes so hard I see nothing but white but the look simply isn't complete without it. The cape will reach to my feet; I will have to be aware of it in any fight. But with the ends fashioned into the points of a bat's wings it brings everything together in ways I couldn't have imagined.

If I am honest, I know that it is not ready when I take it out, and in many ways I am not ready either. But having it completed is too tempting to resist. And I must see if it works. This time when I head for the city I park on the outskirts, change into the suit, and then make my way deeper in. I stick to the rooftops, leaping and climbing between buildings that are close and hemmed in.

More things I haven't thought about. Some distances are too far to jump. I should have some sort of rope or wire to help me cross them. And even once I am in the inner city I wait for over an hour before I see or hear anything criminal going on. I will need some method to tap into the police broadcast. I race across the rooftops towards the source of the noises I hear, my heart racing and my adrenaline pumping.

On a fire escape. Three young men. Carrying a television, a sports bag stuffed with other things they've lifted. I heard the owner of the apartment scream, only to be very suddenly cut off. One of these men may be a killer, all of them are thieves. I leap from the rooftop above them and my shadow blocks the light.

They freeze, in each of their eyes I can see a true and mounting fear. As I crash onto the metal I throw out a growl that builds almost to a roar, reverberating with the metal beneath my boots. They scream in fear, and then it all falls apart.

The biggest one loses his footing and tumbles for the railings. I snatch his ankle just in time but the moment reveals to them that I'm only a man, and one in a stupid costume. One of them kicks me in the chest, the other in the back of the knee. My armour takes the force from their blows but my grip slips all the same. We're twenty stories up, if I lose my grip this man will die.

From the corner of my eye I see the smallest one lining up another kick, lifting himself up onto the fire escape for more leverage. The moment he unleashes the blow I snatch his ankle as well, yanking him down even as I spin, pulling the big one up and over the edge of the railing at the same time. The third one is ready again though, and swings the sports bag for my stomach. The blow hits hard and I gasp for air, but I'm in position for an attack of my own now, and I launch out an instinctive kick that breaks at least two of his ribs.

The three are down, but all still breathing and still conscious. I take out the one thing I did remember to bring and zip tie their hands to the railings, before starting to make my way slowly down the ladder to ground level.

More things to remember. Some way to contact the police, or Alfred, and let him give the anonymous tip.

/|\

It's my first night off in three months. The Red Hood case has gone about as cold as you can let a case go and still pursue it. I'd never admit it but I'm basically waiting for him to rob somewhere else and give me a clue to follow. Barbara 1 is nigh on bursting but she insisted on giving me a massage anyway. Barbara 2 is away at a friend's house, the personal phones are switched off and we've got Marvin Gaye on the iPod.

As she works on my shoulders I feel some of the tension going out of me. A lot of it hangs on the Red Hood case, but some of it hangs on me. Sarah Essen has been helping me to work the case, the first time I've worked closely with her for any length of time. And the attraction is undeniable. She's smart. She's funny. We have a lot in common, but not so much that it grates.

I let that go now. Barbara has done a great job on helping me unwind today. I owe her a lot, it's time I started to put back into this relationship again properly.

Which, of course, is when my phone rings.

She answers, and I can hear her ready to tear into whoever it is. I already know it has to be Merkel. No one else would bother calling me. Merkel and Essen, my only companions.

"It's Merkel," she says as I sit up and reach for the towel. "Something about a giant bat."

/|\

Lieutenant Howard Branden is close to being the dirtiest cop in Gotham City. Maybe Lieutenant Flass outdoes him, but the difference may be a matter of semantics and philosophy. They're dealing with a kidnapper, or at least so the police scanner tells me. I'm crouched on a roof near the Gotham Merchant Bank when it lights up like crazy. Brigham Circle, not so far for me to travel now I've started to learn the routes of the city from above.

I have to carry the thing with me, checking back in on it occasionally. Albert Blume, Paranoid Schizophrenic. Three children held hostage at gunpoint. And of course not a hostage negotiator in sight. Instead they've got Cowboy Branden and his SWAT militia out to deal with the problem. I suppose the Commissioner's got to justify keeping a small army on the payroll by bringing them out for whatever he can swing.

The only trouble I have with that is that Branden went to bust a supposed drug ring two weeks ago, and not a single one of the teenagers dealing weed made it out alive. Loeb covered for him, Grogan was all set to hand him a commendation when Mayor Hill talked him out of that particular political minefield. Personally I have no desire to see a hostage negotiation turn into a bloodbath with a building brought down. And according to the sudden yelling on the radio neither does a certain Lieutenant Gordon.

/|\

Three young punks found ziplocked to a fire escape. Broken ribs, a fractured ankle for two of them and all telling the same story about an eight-foot tall assailant with wings, pointy ears and a voice like thunder. And here I was thinking the Red Hood would be the weirdest things got all year. That was when Merkel buzzed me on the radio.

"Gordon you need to get over here. Brigham Circle, hostage situation."

"Merkel I'm in the middle of an investigation."

"Branden's here."

I spill coffee in my lap, I nearly take out an old woman trying to get the car turned around. I run every single red light on the way and nearly cause a dozen pileups. I screech into Brigham Circle and almost t-bone the SWAT van. Branden's yelling at me before I've even got the door all the way open.

"Don't want to hear it Gordon, my men are going in."

"I'll have you up on charges Branden so help me God. Pull your men back." I can see them already in position, right alongside the doorway, assault rifles in hand.

Markel's at my side in a moment, backing me up. He's the one uniform I can trust. I still don't know exactly why he decided to become a partner of sorts, or how he remained a clean cop in this city, but right now I need the support. Branden stares me down a moment longer, gripping his own rifle tight enough I can hear the plastic creak, then he turns on his heel and marches away. He's probably calling up Commissioner Loeb, I have seconds to try another way.

"Brief," I snap, hurrying towards the building.

"He's on the third floor. No shots fired yet, no criminal record. Paranoid Schizophrenic recently released. No violent history but he's definitely armed and his hostages are little kids."

"We've got a diagnosis; do we have a name?"

"Albert Blume."

"Right." I look up to the third floor window and see him looking back down at me. I can just about make out the dark shape in his hand, and even with the driving rain I can hear him shouting something. I doubt it would make a great deal of sense.

I draw my gun and hold it up over my head. He recoils a little from the window, but keeps his eyes fixed on me. I bend down and lay my gun on the pavement, then stand back up with my hands raised. I can only hope that he understands. I start walking forwards into the building.

/|\

I was half-expecting Branden to have already stormed the building, but when I arrive there's no sign of action. I crouch down on a rooftop opposite the building, scanning the crowd. Seconds after I touch down a police issue Crown Vic skids onto the scene, and a man in a beige overcoat almost falls out. Branden's there shouting at him and I catch the name 'Gordon.' I'm too far to hear their conversation clearly, and the rain is too dense. I need some sort of listening device.

Whatever's been said Branden stalks back to his van like a kicked puppy. Gordon and another cop walk closer to the house when I see Gordon draw his gun and lay it down on the pavement. I hunch a little lower down. This is something I hadn't anticipated.

/|\

The walk up to the apartment gives me more than enough time to contemplate what might be about to happen. I've seen more than enough stories of cops gunned down in tenements just like this one. Hell this part of town it might not even be the hostage taker that gets me. Three stories up, my socks squelching in my shoes and my moustache dripping water down onto my chin. I struggle for breath on the final staircase. Twenty years of smoking will do that to you.

He's in the open doorway of the apartment, a pistol trained on me and a little girl in hand. He's raving at me. "Are you one of them? Are you with them?"

"No Mister Blume. I'm here alone."

"See that's what I thought!" He turned the gun to the girl and I nearly started forwards. "I asked them. I've been seeing them following me you see. So I asked them if they were in on it. And they said they didn't know!" He scratched his temple with the gun, his finger on the trigger. I flinched, expecting the shot, but he just lowered the gun. "I've not been well," he said calmly. "I think it's their fault."

"Whose fault Mister Blume?" I take another step closer.

"My brother was in on it. He sent me there. They did tests on me."

"At Arkham?"

He nodded, suddenly snapping the gun back up. "You ARE with them!"

"Mister Blume, I already told you I'm here alone." I raise my hands, trying to keep my movements slow and steady. I need to wipe my nose desperately. A sneeze is building behind my eyes. "What experiments did they do?"

"Made me see things. Made me look at things I didn't want to..." He wiped his forearm across his eyes. I looked down to see his grip was loosening on the girl. I wanted to try and signal her to run, but she wasn't paying attention to me, and I didn't want to set him off.

"Albert." He let his gun hand fall again and frowned at me. "The people in this apartment aren't in on it."

"How do you know?"

"You're just going to have to trust me."

It's the wrong move and I know it before the words have even left my mouth. The gun snaps up again and it fires, the bullet blasting a chunk of wood out of the banister next to me. The little girl is free though, and he's in no state to aim properly. I dart forwards and catch his arm, forcing the gun down and twisting his wrist. He's skin and bones, nowhere near a match for me, but I don't want to hurt him if it can be helped.

He aims a few ineffectual punches at my back but I just focus on making him drop the pistol. When it clatters to the floor I twist his arm up behind his back and bring him to the ground in a move I've been practicing since the academy. I get the cuffs on him and hold him there a little longer, riding out his struggles. Below me I hear the door slam open and the pounding of boots on the stairs.

"Clear!" I bellow. "Perp is down! No casualties."

Branden's the first one up the stairs and from the look in his eyes I half expect him to put one in me right then and there. But he restrains himself and instead aims a kick at Blume. I catch his leg and knock him off balance. He comes down heavily on his side. I'll pay for that one later. As his men help him back up I can feel the anger radiating off him. Banner day Gordon.

/|\

They lead Albert Blume down to the wagon with cuffs on. Gordon keeps a hand on his shoulder the whole way there. He's subdued, but when I use the micro-telescope in my belt to look closer I can't see a physical mark on him. Gordon did it, and as far as I can tell without throwing a punch. My services weren't even required. I disappear back into the shadows. Just because this situation is resolved doesn't mean that crime is done for the night.

But Lieutenant Gordon. Apparently there is a good man left on the Gotham PD. I need to remember that.

 **AN:-** Some stuff from Batman nowadays is actually a lot easier to acquire than it might once have been. With the advent of 3D printing, and of course the internet, someone with the money to do it could gather a lot of the materials and equipment without having to invent it all themselves. I imagine my version of Batman would look something like a cross between the Arkham/Telltale Batman and the Batman from Brian Azzarello's Joker. Just lots of biker leather, belt with pouches, things like that.

Finding Alfred's voice in this is difficult. I don't want him to be immediately onboard, because what Bruce is setting out to do is objectively insane. But some developments later bring him around somewhat. Because what's Batman without Alfred?

The timing of this story is massively truncated from the original Year One comic, which covered a span of an entire year. Mine covers perhaps the first 3-4 months of Batman's activities, because there's just too much else that needs to be fit in. For Dick Grayson to become Robin and then Nightwing at his generally accepted ages he must become Batman's partner in Year Two, which is when the Dark Victory storyline must happen. But Long Halloween, which comes before Dark Victory, explicitly takes a full year. So Long Halloween must begin in July of Year One, or else the dates just won't match. In general Batman is defender of Gotham City for approximately 15 years, which allows for just about every major important storyline to happen in some form or another, some truncated, others folded into other stories for timing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Task Force

Jefferson Skeevers is the first big fish I've decided to move on. It's taken a while to get to this point. Nearly a month of stake outs and busting low end drug rings. My reputation has started to precede me, so far in a positive way. The thugs I meet now tend to be scared before I even arrive. When they hear the voice modulator I've added to the inside of the cowl I've seen more than one wet himself in fright.

I try to convince myself that my time has not been fun. I needed the voice modulator because my voice needed to be concealed. I needed to add a belt containing important items because too often I found I was missing essential gear. I have begun working on a hand-held grapple gun because I don't have the strength to throw to the upper rooftops. None of these things are toys. They are tools. When I leap across the buildings, hearing the thrum of the city below me, I ignore the swooping sensation in my gut that tells me I am enjoying myself for the first time in years.

Skeevers brings the main bulk of his cocaine into Gotham on Thursdays. From there it will be moved to his factory, then divided up for his dealers. It's an operation that can only work if the wheels of the city are appropriately greased, and skulking in the alley below me is one of the aforementioned greasy cogs. Detective Flass. He's been partnered with James Gordon since before I arrived, but as far as I can tell that was to try and keep Gordon toeing the company line, not because of any choice on Gordon's part.

Right on cue a small band of muscleheads walks into the alley, led by a black guy in a dark suit. Skeevers used to be a boxer, but he's long gone to seed on a life funded by drugs. But his bodyguards are serious muscle. Any one of them could put me in the hospital, and Flass isn't exactly a slouch physically speaking.

The truck rolls into the alley shortly after the players have all assembled. Flass makes a show of stopping it, and then Skeevers comes over to explain to him that this is all above board. I wait until I see the wad of banknotes coming out of his jacket before I strike.

My shadow falls across them and every man there flinches, turning towards me. I hold the cape outstretched in both hands, letting it fill out and catch the air. A small cord attaches it to my boot, but will break free the moment I land. It doesn't work as a full parachute, but it does enough to allow me to leap from a six story building and land without injury. This time I come crashing down hard on a car, rolling straight off the bonnet to strike the first man in the jaw. I feel bone crack and he drops like a stone.

The momentum of my landing carries me further, and I turn it into a spinning elbow, catching the second man up under the chin. His teeth clack together and he drops as well. Three more men who came in with Skeevers, Detective Flass, and the two drivers of the van who are now getting out to help. I crouch low and roar again, hearing the distorted bass tones emanating from the voice box. One of the men cowers away, leaving me free to spring at his companion, slamming him back hard against the van.

They're finally beginning to come to their senses. Flass is going for his gun. I snatch one of the darts from my utility belt and hurl it at one of the bodyguards. The toxin on the dart will numb his arm below the elbow, but inflict no further damage. As I sprint for Flass I draw another dart and launch it at a second bodyguard. Scoring a lucky hit on his shoulder. My teeth are bared in a grimace as Flass gets his gun free and fires, but the bullet misses entirely.

Skeevers is running, I know I'll be able to catch him. His bodyguards are down or running themselves. But this detective. I've heard more than enough about his dealings. I can punch through solid wood if I need to, and I put almost all of that energy into a strike at his solar plexus. He wheezes, doubles over, vomits. I step back to give myself a moment and choose my next attack, then I move again.

/|\

"What happened next Detective?"

"Well like I said in my report. He hit pretty good, but I wasn't goin' down easy."

I'm almost enjoying this. Flass sits next to me in a neck brace, his broken hand in a sling, face black and blue from the thorough beating. Barely an inch of his body escaped some sort of punishment. But I saw the medical reports. His hands, his feet, his elbows and knees, all curiously devoid of defensive wounds. If he even managed a swing at this Man Bat I'd be surprised.

While he spins his tale of the epic showdown between himself and the vigilante I retreat to the corner where Sarah is taking long drags on her e-cigarette. I hate the things but I also can't seem to get through my day without at least a few hits. This briefing is largely a formality and I know it. Loeb hasn't wanted to devote any resources to my task force, no matter how I try and impress on him the importance of bringing down a rogue vigilante.

Curiously enough, we found every man Flass described. He claimed to have disarmed them all of course, but they weren't restrained in cuffs. Instead it was a zip tie, identical to the ones used to restrain the young punks on the fire escape. And Flass is easily the one of the bunch with the worst injuries. A chipped tooth on one of Skeevers' bodyguards, a sprained wrist here and there. But they were incapacitated with almost surgical precision. Far beyond Flass' capabilities of course, but I had long thought of vigilantes of this nature as killers. If Flass had come back telling a story of some nut gunning the perps down I'd have nodded along. This is something new.

His tale is stopped when the entire squad room breaks down. I know exactly which part of his fictitious report he's just reached. _It had claws._ Really. I reenter the discussion, raising my hands to try and calm it down.

"People, this is a serious matter. We currently have a known drug dealer in custody, along with a truckload of cocaine. This ought to be a slam-dunk, especially as Lieutenant Flass was fortunate enough to catch them in the act." He shoots me a look that would melt steel. "Instead we have gangbangers claiming they were assaulted by a civilian, and that won't fly in court. Now we need to track down this man and we need to do it fast."

The briefing goes a little longer, but the truth of it is that I'm missing money, information, and a group of cops I can rely on. I think fondly of Chicago for a moment. If some lunatic in a cape had shown up there we'd have had him in jail within the week, I don't doubt it. But as the cops file out I know most of them are more concerned about making sure they aren't on the receiving end of the next beating when the Bat discovers them with a drug dealer taking a payoff.

"You really think we should be going after the Bat?" Sarah asks. "Seems like he's doing a better job than that mob out there."

"We are officers of the law Detective. That puts this lunatic on the wrong side."

"Just a thought Lieutenant."

/|\

I sit in my study and read the various pieces of evidence I have collected. All of its points to the men I knew it would point to. Carmine Falcone. Sal Maroni. And the official faces. Mayor Hill. Commissioner Loeb. I look up to see Alfred waiting in the doorway. Every time I see him I'm reminded of how long I've been away for, what I must have missed in that time. When I left a few wisps of grey were beginning to set in at Alfred's temples, now he is balding slowly, and the grey has spread across most of his head.

"You have a conundrum Master Bruce."

"In theory there are two major crime families in Gotham. The Falcones control the docks, the Maronis control the inner city. Every other gangster is small time compared to them."

"If it was a simple matter of identifying the targets I expect you would already be out there now, bringing them into justice."

"The problem is this." I turn the photos so he can see the Mayor and Loeb. "If I bring in anyone of any real importance then they'll be set free within a day. I cannot fight against the Mayor and Loeb as a vigilante. Public perception would be against me, and then I'm finished. I need to separate the criminals from the public figures, and then I need to attack each problem separately."

"If I may make a suggestion Master Bruce?"

It takes me off guard. I lean back in the heavy chair and nod. "Of course, anything."

"Carmine Falcone and Salvatore Maroni are criminals, and thus fall within the purview of this character you have created. Loeb and Mayor Hill are public figures, and should be confronted by a similar character."

"What are you driving at Alfred?"

"Maybe it is time for Bruce Wayne to reenter the world of Gotham as well."

I grimace. "Not this again Alfred. The mission must come first. I don't have time to act the billionaire for public appearances."

"You doubt a public figure can do as much good as a hidden one? Were Bruce Wayne to come out of hiding, and to decry the actions of the Mayor. He would be untouchable, legally and politically speaking. Your parents engendered a great deal of good faith, the name of Wayne still commands great respect among the people. Just as your alter ego can make trading with authority figures untenable for criminals, Bruce Wayne can make trading with criminals untenable for authority figures."

He crossed to the desk and inspected the photos. "When fighting a war against two armies, if you can divide the enemy forces then you will find the fight much easier."

"My thanks Alfred. Your council is appreciated."

"Very good sir. Will you be requiring a luncheon?"

"Not right now. I have more work to do it seems."

/|\

Carmine Falcone hosts the rich and powerful of Gotham City once a month at his estate. So far I haven't ventured over here. The lack of security surprises me, but then I suppose it shouldn't. He doesn't have to worry about police raids after all. I see Commissioner Loeb and Captain Grogan both at his table as I set up outside the window. More and more I see how Gotham has changed. Men like this used to stay out of the public eye, now everyone knows Falcone by name, some even speak of him admiringly.

I've added yet more toys to my arsenal. Though most of them are only for tonight. I've been testing, refining, everything. The heavy weights did little except weigh me down. The darts serve better to incapacitate at distance, for close range the armoured gauntlets I have crafted do well enough. Only three of the chauffeurs are even awake, only half of them armed. I crouch in the bushes beside the window that overlooks the dining table. Everything I am about to do is counter to my original plan of staying in the shadows and scaring only the street level punks. But that won't work. Test. Refine.

I can hear Loeb shouting into a phone. He's shouting at Lieutenant Gordon about requisition requests. Apparently I'm not considered a high threat to these people yet. Loeb likes that I'm putting people behind bars. We'll see how much he likes that thought after tonight.

It's a synchronised attack. I cut the lights even as I'm detonating the plastique on the wall. No one should be injured by the blast, but it will shake them. The smoke grenade I toss in next will aggravate the situation further. I see dark shapes moving in the gloom, including the two guards on the door. A dart for each of them, one in the shoulder the other in the neck, and they crash into the table. I grip the edges of the cape and jump through the gaping hole, slamming onto the table amidst the smoke and fire.

The only light sources now are the candles Falcone had lit for ambience. They certainly add to my appearance. A woman faints, most of the table retreats with expletives and prayer. Only one man remains rigid, staring me down from his position at the head of the table.

"Your time is finished." I say to him. The voice silences the commotion at once. "I will not allow you to carry on your leeching of Gotham. The city is mine." I rise up on the table, letting the cape cover me entirely in its black folds. "Cease your operations. You will regret it otherwise."

I turn as fast as I can, letting the cape swing out and around, the gust of air blowing out the last of the candles. I sprint back out through the hole and make for the front wall as fast as I can. No guards come to stop me, and there are no further shouts from the house. I reach the wall and throw myself over it, running until I'm a full mile away from the house. Only there do I stop, shucking the cowl and cape and retrieving the baggy trousers and oversized coat I stored earlier.

The message is sent. Doubtless Falcone will retaliate, and hard. No going back now.

/|\

Loeb damn near deafens me on my way out of his office.

"Absolutely no excuses Gordon! This was your case and you assured me you had it under control."

I don't argue. He's approved my budget requests. Every single one. Part of me feels sick to know that Carmine Falcone likely had a hand in that, but this vigilante must be stopped, before others start to follow his example.

Part of me can't help but admire his audacity. He went straight to the big boys, told them what he intended. Of course Loeb spins it the same old way. 'Legitimate businessman Falcone' is being harassed by the Man Bat apparently. Every case is reassigned. The Red Hood is even going to Flass, who must be on severely thin ice to be given an actual job to do.

"Within the month Gordon!"

I make my way back down to the squad room, running straight into Sarah on the way.

"We got the money?"

"We got the money."

"Did you hear what he did Jim?"

"Blew the wall off the house of one of Gotham's top businessmen is what he did." I reach for my pipe. A new thing I'm trying. I heard that it wasn't as bad for you as cigarettes, and certainly not as bad as the nearly pack a day I'm burning through. Not that I'll admit it but I like the look of it as well. I've always been a fan of the old fashioned image of policing, and my moustache and pipe simply makes me feel like a cop.

"Falcone's as crooked as the night is long."

I push open the door for her. "I thought it was crooked as the day is long."

"This is Gotham," she says with a wink. "I think it's the nights we have to worry about."

/|\

The task force is announced in the morning. Not that I see it. I watch a playback later while I'm trying to recover in bed. The funny thing is that at no point do they refer to the Bat character, or show any sort of picture. They simply announce a new task force to deal with 'vigilante justice being administered by members of the public.' They don't realise how that can only help me.

The Bat is already becoming an urban myth. I've heard it on the streets, I'm seeing it more and more on the internet. I force myself out of bed and groan my way through the morning exercise routine. The aches clear and I walk to the window to look down at the city. The Bat, protecting Gotham city. This is a legacy I can uphold. This will finally put the fear into the criminal underworld.

Time to address the other criminals.

 **AN:-** I will be addressing the issue of Batman's cape soon.

It's interesting the small details that change in modernising a Batman story. Jim Gordon can't smoke a pipe indoors anymore, so he now has to be a vaper.

The constant question of Batman: how does he get away legally with what he does? I can imagine it being helped by a very lenient Jim Gordon and stretching the citizen's arrest laws as far as they will go, classing what Batman does as 'detaining known criminals until the police can get to them for processing.' But early on he doesn't have a lenient Jim Gordon or Harvey Dent on side, so his early arrests are much more difficult to make stick. This is another one I'll be working on, but for now it's a case of the evidence he leaves behind. The gangbangers he beat up were found with their fingerprints on illegal weapons, a truckload of cocaine, and a desperate Flass trying to cover himself from being caught out.

Alfred begins to enter the fray. The point with Alfred is not that he's opposed to what Bruce is doing, just that the theatrics of the Batman are a bit worrying to him. The fight itself is justified, although he might rather Bruce wasn't the one fighting it, and he has decided to help where he can, if only to keep Bruce sane.

I'm avoiding using the actual name 'Batman' for as long as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Bruce Wayne

I walk into the station on Monday morning and my jaw nearly drops right off my head.

Bruce Wayne is standing in the middle of the bull pen reading the board. He turns as I enter and gives me a smile I've seen a dozen times on celebrity gossip mags and plastered across the internet as he conducted his round the world tour.

"Lieutenant Gordon isn't it?" He holds out his hand and I just stare at it. "I've been seeing your name a lot in the news lately. That business with Albert Blume?"

I finally get my wits together and manage to shake his hand. "I was just doing my job."

"Hrm." He turns back to the board. We've got all the theories up on that board. Unfortunately they don't really come to much. Some joker even put up that picture of Bigfoot. "Seems to me that in my time away a lot of the police officers in this town have come to regard their job as a bit of hindrance to lining their own pockets."

My opinion of the man is very quickly changing. When I'd bothered to spare him a thought before it was as a feckless playboy. But if the wrong person heard what he had just said to me… Well actually probably not a great deal would happen, since he is a billionaire. But no one in this town even acknowledges that there is a problem these days.

"You don't have to answer," he tells me. "Just know that I have some plans for this city. My parents did a lot to try and improve the lot of people here. I would like to continue that legacy." He finally turns back to me. "As I say. I've seen your name Lieutenant. You seem like a man who could go on to do great things in this city. I just thought I'd come and see for myself."

I bristle a little at that. He's not even thirty and he's judging me. "Have I passed muster?"

He gives me a nod. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you again."

And with that he heads out of the bullpen. I check the clock. Loeb isn't in, neither is Grogan. Did he really come all the way down to the Precinct just to talk with me?

Sarah comes through the door with the same wide eyed look I'm sure I was sporting moments ago. "Was that?"

"It was." I slump into my chair.

"What was he doing here?"

"I think he came to talk to me."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I know."

/|\

Later that day I get an inkling of the sort of man Bruce Wayne is. A press conference that gets broadcast around the city, probably seen by everyone with a phone. He stands at the steps of the massive Wayne Enterprises tower and leans against the podium, looking every inch the playboy the media has made him out to be.

"For too long this city has cowered in shadow. For too long corruption has been allowed to run rampant. Well when I came home I decided no more. It's time for my company to do more to help this city to regain the greatness it once had. I know the people of Gotham can be a shining example of this country and this world, and I'm prepared to put my money where my mouth is."

He turns and an image appears on the screen behind him. On the screen is a map of the Narrows. There are stars highlighted on it. "These are the locations of all the schools in the district," he says. "They are each about to receive a cash infusion to raise standards. Our children should be able to have lunch. They should be able to go to schools with working toilets, with clean water in the sinks." The stars change to green crosses. "The hospitals." Another change, now a big blue square. "The Gotham City water treatment plant."

Turning back to the cameras his expression is now entirely serious. "This is only year one of my plan. The schools, the hospitals, the water treatment plant. These are our first targets, our first goals. When Wayne Enterprises is finished this city will be transformed. This much I promise you." He steps back and rests his hand on his heart. "In honour of my parents. To continue their legacy."

And he turns on his heel and leaves the stage.

It's a commanding performance. I'm not sure if I believe a single word. Even if he wanted to do all these things he'll have to fight a mountain of corruption to get his money to the right people. But something in our meeting today makes me wonder. There's a strength behind Bruce Wayne I wouldn't want to contend with.

/|\

The Board of Directors aren't best pleased with my plans for Wayne Enterprises. But along with the more obvious criminal evidence I've been gathering I've also taken the time to investigate my father's old company. Half the executives have been skimming profits for years, almost to the point of embezzling in some cases. We may well be in for a sea change in that regard.

I remember Lucius Fox from my childhood. My father disliked the business. He wanted to stay in his hospital and save people with his own two hands. But Lucius was always welcome at the Manor, and he and my father would often while away the hours with a brandy and a cigar in the lounge, discussing some point of business or some new innovation. The two of them had worked together on creating some incredible medical technologies. It had always been that my father would describe something he needed, and Lucius would set about creating it.

There were some ideas of my own that I was sure he could help with.

"It is good to see you back again Br- Mister Wayne." His office has an enormous square footage as befitting a business manager, and an impressive view of Gotham's skyline. But the interior is modest. No artwork, no ostentatious desk or obvious signs of affluence and wealth.

"You should always feel free to call me Bruce." I don't want to call him Mister Fox, but the eight-year old in me can't bring himself to call him Lucius.

"Well then Bruce. You've set out some impressive goals for this company. Did you have any ideas about fulfilling them?"

"The key focus for R&D is going to be the hospitals first. We need to try and make this company into the medical forerunner my father always pushed it to be. That will bring the changes needed there. Right now the schools will simply benefit from more money. And of course in future there will be the issue of the water treatment plant."

"I have some ideas there myself Bruce, though they may be costly."

"I've given some thought to fundraising as well. I want to give myself a more public presence, to become a face for the charitable efforts to some degree."

"Is that so?" He leaned back in his desk and gave me a look that made me want to tell him the real reasons for my plans. "To what end?"

"We can funnel as much of Wayne Enterprises money into this as we like, and I can divert as much of my personal fortune, but that won't solve the issue. We need to get people involved, we need to get them wanting and believing that their city can be made great again."

"And you think that you becoming the face of a charity will accomplish this?"

"It will once I start fundraising."

"Fundraising?"

I smile. "Let me tell you my vision Lucius."

/|\

Standing guard duty for Wayne's fundraising enterprise is quite frankly a waste of my time. But I'm told he requested me specifically. In fact he hand-picked the entire squad that will be closest to him. Loeb didn't even question it, or ask why a billionaire who had been away for a decade would be so interested in the police department.

I don't know the answers to those questions, but I'm determined to find them out. Something isn't sitting right with Bruce Wayne, and I'm going to figure it out. But for right now I stand outside the door of a billionaire's office while he gets changed. None of us have any idea what this charity stunt is going to be, all we've been told is that he needs an equal number of officers on the roof and the ground 'just in case.'

I sigh and shift my holster a little. To my left Officer King turns to me. "Everything alright sir?"

"All good King. Just thought I'd left my days of standing at doors behind."

He turns back to look down the hall. King's a good officer, and I mean that in every sense of the word. He's loyal, committed to the real job, but he's also got the easy grace that speaks of good training. Wayne has somehow managed to gather together as his guards the best of the Gotham PD. I don't think that's coincidence.

The door handle turns and Wayne emerges dressed in a long red cape and what looks like a parachuting suit. "Ah! Gordon. Good to see you again."

"And you Mister Wayne."

He starts a brisk walk to the elevator, adjusting the thick gloves he has on. "Are you ready for my little spectacle?"

"It would help if I knew what it was."

"That would be telling Lieutenant." He steps into his elevator and we follow. Lucius Fox, the business manager, gets in with us as well. I can't quite fathom what he's doing here either. Wayne presses the button for the roof and my curiosity ramps up another notch. The elevator moves without a whisper and barely a shudder of movement before we're stepping out onto the ninety-eighth floor.

We take the stairs up to the observation deck, then take a ladder up onto the very roof of the building. The wind is fierce up here and we all have to cling to guardrails. I can feel my heart starting to beat harder as we walk along a metal walkway that extends out past the edge of the observation deck. Wayne is putting on a helmet and checking his gloves again, the cape he's wearing catching and snapping out in the wind.

We stop on the end of the rails and Fox steps up to him, checking the cape and his gloves, then peering through the visor of the helmet. Wayne nods at him and he steps away beckoning me forwards.

"Let's get a record of this for posterity," he says, tapping a camera mounted to the top of his helmet. All I can do is stare. "In front of me is Lieutenant Gordon of the Gotham City PD. With him are Officer King of the Gotham City police and Lucius Fox of Wayne Enterprises. I'm Bruce Wayne, about to attempt the highest BASE jump without wing suit or parachute." Through the fogged visor I can just make out his smile. "Any words for the people of Gotham Gordon?"

I can't help it. The words are out before I'm even aware of them. "You're going to jump? Are you insane!"

"Quite possibly. But the way I see it if I land then I'll be a viral hit for a day, if I go splat I'll be a viral hit for at least a week."

And he throws himself off the edge of the platform.

My heart stops. I can hear Mayor Hill reaming me out from dawn til dusk every day for the rest of my natural born life. Images of billionaire Bruce Wayne's corpse in a pile a thousand feet down flood my mind and I leap forwards, staring down at the ground so far below I can barely even make out the roads.

But in amongst the buildings I can see a speck moving, I squint and realise that the cape has somehow spread out behind him like enormous bright red wings. As I watch he angles and banks back towards the building, catching an updraft and lifting for a moment before he intentionally pulls the wings in and dive bombs towards the ground. Before I have another heart attack they snap open again and he drifts out of sight behind the side of the building.

I fall back onto the walkway, panting. "What?"

"It's really a quite extraordinary design." Lucius Fox is standing over me, looking at his tablet. "It's a shape memory polymer alloy." Clearly my face shows my deep confusion. "You choose a selected shape for the polymer, but it only holds its shape when subjected to some form of external stimulus, in this case, electricity. When a current passes through the fabric it stiffens into the shape you chose, but at other times is almost as flexible as regular fabric."

"And that can really support his weight?" King asks. "Enough that he can parachute off this building?"

Lucius taps the device. "In about ten seconds we're about to find out."

/|\

Watching the speech he gave after landing at the base of Wayne Towers makes me feel like I was honestly part of something important, even if my entire involvement was to stand at a door and look bewildered into the camera. He's talking about all the amazing new technologies that Wayne Enterprises is developing, and that this is only the first one they will soon be announcing to the public.

The ice pack on my forehead is warming almost to the point of ineffectiveness now. I'm leaning back in my chair and knowing I should go home, but I can't quite bring myself to do it. Sarah walks in and I hate how my pulse quickens as she walks over to my desk.

"Hate to tell you this Jim," she says, leaning over my desk and opening up the internet. "You're a meme."

Sure enough there's my bewildered expression, all over the internet.

"They even made a dance remix."

She opens the link and my voice, pitch shifted and autotuned, starts blaring out of the computer speakers. "You're going to jump? You're going to jump? You're going to jump. Jump. Jump. Are youoooou, youooooooh, ooooooh, insane!"

"Catchy." I close the browser. "Maybe I should quit this life of policing and take up music."

"What's next on the docket boss man?"

"Next suspect on our potential Bat-Men list."

"Ooh. Anyone I know?"

"Absolutely." I drop the ice pack and stand up. "You know him as the District Attorney."

/|\

Tonight when I take to the city I have real wings. Lucius didn't question my desire to take them home, or wonder why I would want to reshape them. The cloth is heavy across my shoulders, and this set is in the original black colour he designed them in. They were taken out of production at Lucius' wishes because they were intended for military applications, to help insertions by SEALs. My father wouldn't have approved of such an application. BASE Jumping might be a thrill seeker's dream, but at least there are no violent uses there.

The thought gives me pause. My actions tonight will invariably result in violence. And I will commit that violence. Would my father ever approve of what I am doing, and in his memory? I am forced to conclude that the answer would be no, but at the same time can see no other path at this point. I have devoted my life to this, a life I would not have led were he alive. His wishes and desires for me are all but irrelevant. Many people have told me that when my parents died the spirit of Gotham died as well. If my father's ways didn't work, then maybe mine will.

I put the thoughts out of my head. I need to concentrate. Tonight I will address the biggest player in town, and I will need every ounce of ingenuity I possess.

Carmine Falcone's mansion has had a few security upgrades since the last time I visited. The cape helps with a great many of them, allowing me to jump from the forest and sail in over the guard's heads, alighting on a balcony on the second floor. I heave myself up before the garden patrol passes beneath me and pause, scanning the door for cameras or trip wires. Satisfied he hasn't had a chance to fortify this entrance yet, I take out my lockpicks and set to work.

Creeping through the house I duck behind any nook I can find. I considered discarding the cape for this part, but I need the effect of it. There are guards everywhere, all armed with machine pistols. I press behind a curtain and wait for two of them to pass me, hearing them radio check in with some sort of central control room. I have no plan for dealing with security cameras, the most I can do is to keep watch for them.

Even more things to consider. Every day I am discovering that there are aspects of this insanity I never considered.

Eventually I reach Carmine Falcone's bedroom, and easing the door open I am delighted to find he is already asleep. The next part is easy. First the gag, then snatching his arms as he flails awake. He's strong, but he's long gone to seed. Hasn't needed to crack any skulls in person for decades. I quickly get his arms up behind him, hogtied with the cable I use to climb buildings. Next are his feet. I try not to take an added measure of satisfaction from the fact that he sleeps in the nude. All the better when his men find him.

I lean down over him, letting the cape cast its shadow on him. I bend close to his ear to whisper. He doesn't flinch. No tears, he's not even shaking. I suspect I could slide a knife into his ribs and he still wouldn't break. He's far too proud and strong for that. But I can still make him hurt.

I yank the gag from his mouth and race for the window. Leaping out I spread the wings of the cape and activate the electrical current in the gloves. It's still an unwieldly system to activate, but I can work on that. The wind catches me and I glide neatly onto the front lawn, mere metres from the garage. I break a window, not caring to be quiet much longer, and throw myself inside.

In 2011 Rolls Royce produced a special version of the Phantom called the 'Year of Dragon' Phantom. It is one of the most expensive cars in the world, aside from custom models. They sold out within two months when released in China at a price tag of 1.2 million dollars each. Carmine Falcone has two in his garage.

The engine of the Rolls I break into starts with a purr that actually makes me regret what I am about to do. I floor the gas and smash clean through the garage doors, heading for the gates. The car jumps and growls under my touch, breaking through the gates with no more resistance then a speed bump. Half a dozen men rush out to try and stop me but I'm already long gone. Driving in the cape is one of the most uncomfortable experiences I've had in a long time but once I hit the open road back to Gotham I settle into the drive.

Naturally the car will be reported stolen. Carmine Falcone will make a big deal about its return. But he and I will both know that it resides beneath Pier Seven. At the bottom of the Gotham River.

/|\

Harvey Dent works later than I do. He's not only in his office, but he's got all the lights on and half a dozen cases spread out before him. We've been friends since the moment I set foot in Gotham, and he's yet to do me wrong. But I have to start asking questions of him now.

"He seems to know exactly when and where our traps have been set up. And instead of falling into them he spends his nights terrorising the rich and powerful of Gotham."

"Yes but in Gotham rich and powerful means something different to the rest of America doesn't it Gordon."

"That doesn't change the fact that this costumed man is a vigilante. That makes him a criminal I have to put behind bars."

"Right and would that be before or after you put Carmine Falcone in beside him?"

Sarah coughs quietly in the corner as we stare each other down.

After counting to ten I try again. "I get it. You've been after Falcone for years now. Witnesses drying up, testimonies always changing. I can understand the frustration."

"Absolutely."

He has a small gym in his office. I wonder whether he ever even goes home. His couch has definite signs of having been slept on. "You stay in shape Dent, anyone could see that. And with Falcone using his muscle to keep you where you are."

"Is there a point you're going to be reaching soon Gordon?"

He's far too clever to play like a normal perp. I reach for my notebook. "I need to know where you were on the following dates."

He answers all the question perfectly of course. Knew what I was going to ask before I even did. But his alibis are solid. Of course they are. He's the ADA, he's got someone watching him practically all the time. And his only other alibi is his wife. No point asking her.

Back in the Crown Vic on the way back to the precinct Sarah turns to me. "Did you really think it was him?"

I shrug. "It was a possibility. He's got the determination; he's got the motive. What he's missing is opportunity." I frown, slowing for a red light. "But also means. The costume, the gadgets. He must have money, or someone bankrolling him at least."

"It always comes down to money." Sarah shook her head, then suddenly sat forwards in her chair. "Money…"

"What have you got Essen?"

"You were with him earlier today Lieutenant. I mean for God's sake he leapt off a building with a big cape on his back with you watching."

"Bruce Wayne?" A part of me wants to dismiss it out of hand, but then the details start piling up in my head. Murdered parents would certainly give him motive. Means is absolutely obvious, he's a billionaire even by the European definition of the word. And for opportunity… Well what does a billionaire do with his nights?

I nod slowly. "Bruce Wayne."

 **AN:-** This is one of the important plot points. Bruce Wayne can maybe do more as Bruce Wayne than he can do as Batman to really change Gotham.

More strange things about adapting the old stories: finding definitive heights for buildings in Gotham. Everyone agrees on 'tall' but what exactly that means differs wildly from story to story.

And now Batman has wings. This is another part of Bruce Wayne's charitable efforts, sort of so it doesn't become suspicious as to where Batman is getting all this tech. Wayne Enterprises releases a new cape for thrill seekers and extreme sports enthusiasts, a few weeks later Batman has one. Bruce Wayne tests a new grapple gun for rapid ascension for people like fire fighters, a few weeks later Batman has one. No one questions how Batman gets the wonderful toys because they're all available to purchase on the open market.

The Rolls Royce is a real car. I just googled world's most expensive cars and picked the first one I thought a man like Falcone would own.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Becoming

Bruce Wayne is a hard man to get hold of. His butler informs me that he's conducting business deals, but then I call the Wayne Enterprises business office and they tell me he's at the Manor, planning his next charity event. But then I call the Wayne Enterprises charity office who tell me they haven't heard any news of any event even being planned.

I'm not a fan of being brushed off. It tends to only make me more determined.

"Sarah."

She looks up from her desk. "Yeah?"

"Road trip."

She grabs her coat at once and follows me out of the door. It's easy. It's comfortable. It's absolutely wrong. Down at the car pool we grab the Crown Vic and hit the road. It's already getting dark. Nearly midnight. I ought to be following up another lead in the Red Hood case. This time he's graduated to murder.

"Where exactly are we going Jim?" She asks me.

"We're going to find out exactly where Bruce Wayne is and what he's been up to."

"Sounds good to me. I always wanted a shot at one of the big boys of this town."

"Now now Essen, that's not why we do the job." But I'm grinning as I round the corner.

The grin disappears immediately as I see a truck speeding through a red.

I screech round, flooring it and hearing the engine grumble its way up to speed. I pull up alongside and look over to see the driver almost completely out of his seat. Could be a heart attack, but that doesn't matter. His foot's on the floor and the truck's nearing fifty in the middle of the city.

Ahead I see an old woman, hauling a cart across the road. I don't even time to curse God out as I shove the door of the Vic open and lean halfway out of my seat.

"Take the wheel!" I'm screaming to Essen even as I jump. I don't know if she hears me, there's no time. I jump from the car, clamping my hands onto the edge of the open window. Metal digs into my palms and my feet scratch at the step, desperately trying to find purchase. I shove one arm through the window, trying to grab the wheel, but I know there's not a chance.

The truck slams straight into a light-pole and I go flying, my arm wrenching on the door frame. I land in a pile of garbage and see black.

When I come to Sarah is shouting.

"Don't move! Hands where I can see them."

I groan and roll out of the trash.

"You with me Jim?"

I'm shaking my head to clear it, trying to make sense of the scene in front of me. A dark blur crouched low on the sidewalk.

"Don't take your eyes off him."

Movement from the blur that is Essen and the black shape is on her in a heartbeat, swatting her to the floor with almost contemptuous ease. I reach for my gun and succeed in pulling it free of the holster before I blackout again.

I come to with sirens blaring in my ears, rolling to my feet with a squad car pulled up and the officers piling out. "LT, it's him!"

I scan the street, but there's no way he could have escaped without being spotted. Then I see the alleyway.

"Check down there."

I get to my feet and see the old woman, safe and sound on the side of the road. _He saved her?_

My stomach churns and I dry heave as guns fire.

"Cease fire god damnit!" I shake my head, clearing the last of the cobwebs. The side of my face is sticky. A patrolman runs over and I grab his radio, shouting to the men guarding the alley. "No one fires without my order." It's a blind alley but it runs into a building. "Get the front covered." More squad cars appearing. I spot a familiar face or two. "Merkel! Get a squad up on the roof, find King."

"Sir!" As he runs off another officer waves me over to his car. He's got the radio receiver held out to me.

Loeb's voice crackles out from the speakers. "Pull your men back Gordon, Branden is taking charge."

"Commissioner there's no need for this. Batm-"

"Pull back Gordon, that's an order."

There's a chopper above us.

The radio buzzes again. "The building's due demolition, no one's inside."

A package drops from the chopper and my heart stops as I realise what's coming next.

"Everybody down!"

I duck for cover behind the building as the demo charge hits the roof and detonates, blowing out the top three floors worth of windows, scattering glass across the street. Brick and rubble rains down on us and I hear someone yell. When the shaking stops I pull myself back out from behind the car to see a smoking ruin of what used to be a building. One of the patrol officers is slumped on the ground, completely unconscious. I run over to drag him back to safety.

 _God help Him now._

The SWAT van pulls up and Branden's boys come tramping out the back.

 _Or maybe it's them I should be worried about._

/|\

An earthquake hits me and I fall from the stairs. Or more accurately the stairs fall away from me. I hear screams all around, the transients stuck in here with me when the GCPD decided to bring a building down to stop me. I twist with the fall, the years of acrobatics and gymnastics training helping me find my balance. The heat of the fire around me brings sweat gushing down my forehead and into my eyes. The smoke will come soon enough, burning and stinging my throat for good measure.

I land hard, but not cripplingly so. One of the officers grazed my leg firing after me in the alley. The landing jars it and I fall to one side but I'm back on my feet in a moment. There's a metal door nearby, leading down to the basement. I kick at the wall next to it and my foot goes clean through, shattering the jamb around the lock. I heave the door open and throw myself inside, praying the door does something to protect me from the collapse.

Loeb wants a corpse. Clearly I'm doing something right.

Finally the shaking dies down and there's only the groaning of timber ready to give way. I activate the dim light attached to the back of my glove and shine it around. It puts out about as much light as a cell phone screen but that's better than nothing. I'm in some sort of electrical maintenance room, though it's been long deserted. There's no going back out through the door I came in by, but by luck or providence there is a flue, probably for an older gas heating system.

As I crouch by it, looking for a weak spot in the wall, I hear voices emanating down. Branden and his boys coming to finish the job.

"Found a body under the water heater… Just some bum."

I file that one's voice away, decide he should pay for that comment. A good solid shove takes out the dividing wall and the flue is open to me. I look up and see that it has been exposed on the level above as well. Bracing my back against one wall and my legs against the other I begin to shimmy up.

Gunfire sounds loud and ringing, as well as the aftermath of bullets on metal. Probably shooting at the door just to make a show of doing something. I keep climbing and reach the top of the flue just as a group of the SWAT team goes down into the basement I just left. One man still on guard, his back to me. This is almost too easy.

The strike to the carotid artery was one of the first things Master Kirigi taught me. A simple blow that if administered correctly changes the pressure of blood around the brain, leading to almost instant unconsciousness. I tie the man up and shove the metal door back in place to block the hole. A piece of timber has conveniently fallen free as well, and serves as an additional barrier.

The unconscious man had a radio on him. "Officer Branden. This doesn't have to get any worse. Too many people have died already. Withdraw your men."

"Who the hell do you think you are you freak?" Through the flue I hear what he doesn't say over the radio. "Get that door open men, shoot to kill."

I sigh and drop one of my gas grenades down the hole. It's simple tear gas, surprisingly available when you have the money.

/|\

"Uh, Gordon? I think Branden needs help."

"I'd love to Merkel." I make a show of lighting my pipe. "Commissioner's orders. I'm out."

/|\

There's still another couple of floors left of this building. I hide under a stairwell, thinking through my next move. They'll be here any second, and I can't fight five men with guns and training. Time for a radical solution.

When I first came out as Bruce Wayne into the city I took the opportunity to visit a lot of the old sights. At the same time I planted a series of small transmitters. Now I slide a small remote from my belt and activate it. The light blinks red, then settles on a steady orange. In the cave beneath Wayne Manor a sonic transmitter starts blaring a signal, designed to drive the multitude of bats out of their nesting. Other transmitters located through the city will guide them to me. If the device works. I do wish I'd been able to test it properly.

Movement out of my peripherals and I jump, ready for the attack. But a slinky grey cat is all I see, padding softly between the debris. She sidles up next to me and curls around my legs, purring. It will take a few minutes for the bats to arrive. Until then I'm on my own. _Well._ I stroke the cat gently. _Almost alone._

The stairs above me creak as armoured boots stamp down them. My feline friend is spooked and runs out into the room, prompting a yell from above.

"Yah! Just a cat."

"Shut up Pratt. Keep your eyes open."

They head straight for their unconscious friend and the flue. As long as they're wasting time I'm not going to bother moving. They crowd around for a while, looking down and calling out to their comrades. A couple of them try and shift the beam across the door. There's a rustle from below and they haul one of the men up, just as he pulls off his gasmask to reveal Branden, sweating and shouting.

"Leave that. Get your guns ready men, time for a hunt."

"Yah!" They spin as one, but hold fire a moment. A second later I hear one of them growl. "That damn cat again."

"Steady men. And fan out, we're wide open here."

Damn.

I don't want to get caught out in an enclosed box under the stairs. My only option is less than palatable. I explode from my hiding place, throwing one of my darts at Branden and scoring a lucky shot on his cheek. They all have helmets on, I won't get that lucky again. As Branden falls they open fire, forcing me to break for new cover, bullets tracing my path.

The cat yowls as the gunfire ends and I hear a burst of gunfire that trails into silence.

"Damn Pratt, you and that cat."

I hear a disgruntled mewing and add another tally mark against these men.

More gunfire and my new cover, a load-bearing wall, has chunks ripped out of it. Soon enough this whole building is going to come down, but they don't seem to have noticed. I break free again, sprinting for the stairs. If I can lead this chase upstairs I have more options. The assault fire halts that notion and I dive for cover, suddenly aware that I have led them to fire out of the windows.

I grab the door I'm hiding behind and hold it up as makeshift cover, racing back for the wall I just left. It leaves me very little but at least no innocents will be in danger then. That's when the craziest in a long string of crazy ideas hits me. My leg is beginning to throb from the bullet wound now but I'm fast running out of options.

Twisting my hips I put everything I have left into the kick, and am rewarded when the wall cracks in half under my foot. With a deep rumble the ceiling above begins to cave in on us all, burying half the men in a mound of plaster and dry wall. One of them leaps free and I recognise the tone of his voice as he lands and cries out.

Pratt.

I grab him by the vest and heave him up over my head. "You're the one who tried to shoot the cat."

With another heave I throw him clean through the outer wall, hearing screams from the people gathered outside.

I expect the screams to abate, but they carry on instead, quickly taking on another timbre. My backup has arrived. The new hole in the wall will do well as a new exit. I leap out into a swarm of bats, attracted to the final transmitter in the device on my belt. Pandemonium rains as everyone tries to keep themselves covered, fleeing the scene far more quickly than a simple gun or explosive would scatter them. The people of Gotham think they've seen everything but this is too much even for them.

The police cordon gives me a motorcycle, and the bats have cleared the road for me. I take off as fast as the bike will carry me.

/|\

The final tally of the vigilante's escape from the police is equal parts heroic, amusing, and terrifying. The thought of one man achieving all of this simply through determination and a few gadgets almost beggars belief. No one is entirely sure how he got away, given how many squad cars were sent to follow the swarm of bats he took with them, but escape he did, leaving not a clue as to his whereabouts. Perhaps if Commissioner Loeb and Branden hadn't been quite so gung-ho about bringing down a building we would have had a shot at material evidence, but that's not my place to say.

Everyone, including me, had to have a shot who was there when his swarm of bats decided to come down on us. Branden's men were all hospitalised. Tear gas accounted for many, a ceiling falling on them got a few, and one man was thrown clean through a brick wall. Five broken ribs and internal bleeding. I'd feel sorry if Pratt hadn't beaten up an octogenarian less than a month ago, though I do wonder why the vigilante singled him out for such a brutal assault.

And of course the dead inside the building. No one to speak for them. No one to bring Loeb up on charges. They simply passed quietly as a footnote on a larger file.

One last piece of information from the night of madness and mayhem. The next morning the press had a blurry photo of a caped man riding a bike amidst a swarm of bats. And they had given him a name as well.

I suppose 'Batman' isn't as stupid as they could have gone.

 **AN:-** I'm taking the Red Hood story more from the non-canon story (although what even is canon anymore in DC) Lovers and Madmen than from The Killing Joke. Although aspects of the Killing Joke will be included as well, though not necessarily in the way you might imagine. The Red Hood is not necessarily the Joker, or maybe he is the Joker. My favourite interpretation of the Joker is that he himself doesn't know his own history, so he might think he is the Red Hood, or he might not.

Master Kirigi is a character from DC (as all of these are) in the old continuity he was one of the people who trained Bruce to become Batman, and later featured in a storyline called 'The Wall'

Pratt is a character who appears in Year One and later in Long Halloween.

And we finally have the first use of the official title. Part of me kind of wanted to wait til the very end of the year one storyline, which in my fiction will be until about March, before he finally got named, but on the other hand this moment and this confrontation and this night is sort of what leads to him being dubbed Batman properly by the media and all, so it fit quite nicely.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:-** This is about where I started to get a better handle on Alfred

Chapter Six: Threads

"Really sir, it's a little gauche don't you think?"

"In some ways putting a name to all of this helps the cause Alfred."

"But 'Batman.'" Alfred has had the same expression on his face since he saw the headline. Now the name is repeated every single day on every single paper, every single website, every single news banner. None of them quite match the first headline though, the day after my confrontation with the police. 'Beware the Batman.'

"I'm starting to quite like it."

"Don't you find it a little childish?"

"If nothing else it's accurate."

"As you say sir."

I'm underneath a bank of computers, trying to fit together three different experimental systems that were never designed to interact. Making them connect is only step one, after that I'll have to make them communicate with each other. Just another unseen part of my fight on crime. A standard bank of computers isn't going to do it, and hacking into Langley every time I need a little more processing power might start raising red flags.

There are more charity events coming up, this time it's an event organised with the fire department. In reality I'm hoping to test out a new grapple system I've been working on. I can't pitch my cord more than three stories on muscle alone, but advances in pressurised gas line launchers mean I might not have to soon. A handheld device of the sort we'll be trialling later could have kept me from being trapped in that alley.

I'm due an appointment with Lieutenant Gordon soon as well. We were able to convince him that Bruce Wayne was in the Swiss Alps taking some time away from the busy lifestyle he so enjoys. Alfred can do a remarkable Swiss accent when called upon. The week away gives time for my leg to heal enough that it won't be noticed.

Lieutenant Gordon. Again and again his name comes up. I'm beginning to realise that I cannot do this alone. The fiasco with the police could have been avoided if Gordon had understood, had known what I am and what I'm trying to do. I can't reveal my identity to him of course, but I need allies, and it seems like Gordon might be just the man.

/|\

Early morning pickups become early morning coffee with Sarah. I pretend it's just cops getting to know each other, but I also know I would have never done anything like this for my colleagues in Chicago, male or female. We cover just about every subject, but it's whenever we get close to the topics of my wife and family that I feel danger.

I'm honest with Sarah, I feel I can be. Barbara and I were high school sweethearts. That didn't change when we both went off to college. I was already on track to join the police in some capacity, all I needed was my associate's degree. Barbara was aiming a little higher than that. She was heading towards therapy.

And then in the third year of her degree she got pregnant. I even know when it happened. Just after I had found out that I was going to be accepted into the Police Academy for training. Too much celebratory wine and suddenly our lives took the turn that would define the next seventeen years.

"That must have been a shock so young," Sarah said after I told her.

"It threw a lot of plans out the window," I replied. "Barbara found she couldn't balance the work load, the school load, and having a newborn baby. She dropped out and I went to join the police. She comes from a very Catholic family, so marriage was really the only option for her."

"And what about you?"

"Lapsed. Very very lapsed."

"So what happened next?"

"We got on with our new life. I graduated, we moved to Chicago for my job. She raised Barbara Two while I was out pounding a beat. I made detective as soon as I possibly could, and then the offer of a job here came up again so we decided to move back."

"Where you now have to deal with masked vigilantes, organised crime and a department so corrupt you can't even get replacement ink for the printer without knowing who to slip a fifty to."

"Exactly."

There's not much to Sarah's story either. Straight from high school to university, went into police careers after a friend of hers was assaulted and no one ever caught them. Turns out she's originally from Chicago. That raises a chuckle.

At the station people are starting to notice something. I get a ribbing from Flass about it. A reminder of Barbara waiting at home for me. They seem to think I'm becoming one of them, slowly but surely. I'm not entirely sure they're wrong.

Jefferson Skeevers is being released. When that news hits my desk I grab my coat and head straight for the District Attorney's Office.

"What the hell Harvey!"

He's rubbing his temples. I hope it's his guilt.

"I know you're not on the take so what the hell are you doing letting Skeevers out?"

"I don't like it any more than you do Gordon but Rafferty set it down and the DA agrees. I can't fight every single release in this city."

"He's a crime boss with an organisation we've been able to start cleaning up while he was inside."

"Having been put there by a damn vigilante!" Dent's out of his chair in an explosion of anger I didn't expect. He always seems so collected but there's fire in his eyes now. "A vigilante you have so far failed to capture." He sighed and brought himself back under control. "Do you know what the Batman's costing us Jim? The criminals claiming wrongful arrest, persecution, assault and battery?"

"I know Harvey but it's difficult to track someone who can escape the city's entire SWAT department."

"I know, and I'm not blaming you, just…" Harvey sighed. "We've got to be careful here Jim. We both know the Bat's better at collecting evidence than most of the force. If we use him right we could do some real good here."

And there it is.

The Batman is doing the police's job better than the actual police. He saved that old woman, he's yet to kill anyone we've found. Reasonable force on every criminal he brings down and evidence tucked away in bags ready for us when we arrive. It's been a hell of a job for the forensics boys to lose or tamper with everything he gives them to make sure the convictions _don't_ stick.

/|\

Jefferson Skeevers. I put him down weeks ago, but he's out. This is what I feared. In a city already this corrupt I can't convince the police department to work with me. And that means anything I give them outside of a signed confession won't hold up in court.

Which means I need a confession.

Skeevers is holed up in the Gotham Grand. Pretty fancy digs for someone who according to my intel is at best a mid-level boss. That suggests he's got friends in high places, on one side of the law or the other. Climbing the side of the building takes well over an hour. The pressurised grapple still isn't fully perfected. Thankfully the Grand is fairly easy to climb, as buildings in Gotham go. Lots of classic stonework with plenty of good hand holds.

I draw level with his room and slide onto the balcony, hearing his aide shouting at him. "You stay clean until we've gotten you off."

"Don't sweat it baby." Sounds like he's always taken more than a few tokes already. "Just a couple of lines."

And cocaine. I pause by the window. He's doing half my job for me. This is going to be almost too easy.

"Dent and Gordon are hot for you Jefferson. They'd love to catch you with your pants down."

"Catch me? They caught me, and they let me go. There's that court order tying Gordon's hands now." There's a pause where I imagine him putting at least one line up his nose. "Besides, I go down and I can take Flass out with me. And if he goes down, maybe he talks about Loeb…"

"Shut up about that! You say a word about that and we're both dead, and that's not a metaphor." Another pause. "Take that goddamn thing out of your nose."

"Just a couple more…"

"Blue suit at the inquest. No, scratch that, black. White shirt. Black tie. None of that pimp stuff. And smile nice when you smile."

"I smile at them ok."

"The pretty jurors you smile at just fine." Her voice is fading. "Just remember they've still got their clothes on."

The door closes. Excellent.

I lockpick the window easily, sliding it open. The curtains sway in the wind and I hear him shift in the chair.

"Closed the window…"

I spring forwards, exploding out from the curtains and grabbing the back of his neck hard. My momentum carries me over and down until his head impacts with the glass table. I seem to have misjudged the ferocity of my leap though, and accidentally carry him clean through the table as it shatters around his head. I freeze in place, my hand clamped tight on his neck. He's shaking hard enough it's actually difficult to hold onto him.

There's a knock on the door and his assistant's voice. "Skeevers. You all right in there?"

One chance. I lean in close and growl as low as I can keep my voice. "It's all fine."

I give him a shake for good measure and he stammers out. "I'm fine."

No more knocks. No more voices from outside. I wait another few minutes, just long enough for his shaking to become unbearable. Then I lift him up and throw him onto the couch. He's solidly built, most of it still muscle. But the coke's throwing him off, and as I spread the cape out behind me and walk closer I can see his eyes go wide with fear.

"You can't outrun me." The voice distorter is set as low as it will go. Subsonic frequencies are intermingled with the usual basso notes. "Nothing can stop me." I reach down and place my entire hand over his face, forcing his head back until his neck bones creak. "We're going to talk about your deal with Flass and Loeb."

/|\

Being one of the on-duty officers at three in the morning. I know I'm being punished for something, but I can't even remember what. Maybe it was throwing back the good Padre's Bribe. Or the off-hand comment I made to the media about Branden's handling of the Bat situation. I nod to Merkel. He's on with me, probably for similar reasons.

A man walks into the bull-pen. Tall, dressed in a trench coat and with an old fashioned fedora pulled low over his brow, sunglasses on underneath it. He spots me and walks right up to my desk.

"I wanna talk to Dent," he says. "Cop a plea." I frown, trying to discern features, or something in the voice. He reaches up and pulls off the glasses and my eyes go wide. "Want to talk. About Flass."

I'm out of the chair in a heartbeat. "Merkel, get Dent. Forget to tell Loeb."

"Sir!"

/|\

"He just walked in? Right into the station?"

Sarah's eyes are wide as I relay the story. I'm coming off shift, she's just going on, but somehow we've managed to meet in the middle for an early coffee.

"My hand to God. Something scared him worse than any of his criminal compatriots."

"You don't think…" she trails off and takes a sip while I give her my best questioning look. "The Bat?"

My smile quickly fades and I take a sip of my own coffee. "Let's not think about that. He's not mentioned the Bat and my reports aren't going to either. If we lose this conviction because that vigilante got involved…"

"But what if you only get it because he got involved?" She set down her coffee. "Gordon, maybe Batman isn't the villain Loeb and the others want him to be. Maybe he's not the villain you seem to want him to be."

"Maybe not. But I can't think like that and still be a cop."

Five minutes later we leave the coffee shop. She's heading up the street to the precinct, I'm going down and back to my house. I reach out to shake her hand and it happens on instinct. I lean in and kiss her cheek. At the same time I feel the press of her lips, just at the corner of mine.

I don't remember much of the next minute or so, but when I come back to my senses she's in my arms and our lips are together and we might as well both be teenagers for how we're going at each other. I let her go and pull away, my hand going to my mouth as she makes the same motions.

"I have to go," I manage to say, and turn to leave.

"I'm sorry Jim!"

I'm already halfway down the street, and she's not following. I have to get home. I have to tell Barbara. This has gone too far; I've let it go on too far. I burst through the door and head right for the kitchen, where Barbaras One and Two are both at the table, a packed lunch on the table by Barbara Two while Barbara One struggles to eat cereal while not dripping milk onto her stomach.

"What's wrong James, you look like you ran here!"

I open my mouth to say it but the words stick. I can't. Certainly not in front of Barbara. But looking at my wife I know I don't want to say it. Instead I smile. "Had to dodge a bus. Maniacs these days they let behind the wheel." I walk over to Barbara Two and give her a kiss on the top of her head. "Have a great day at school honey." Her mother gets a cheek kiss. "I'm gonna have to crash I'm afraid. Big night at work."

"Good night?" She asks as I'm already heading for the stairs.

I pause, one foot on the first step. "Yes. I think so."

/|\

The fallout is immediate, in every sense of the word. By the end of the week Flass and Loeb are both being hounded every hour of the day and night by reporters wanting a juicy story. Internal Affairs has stepped in over the whole debacle, and with the eyes of the media on them maybe, just maybe, something might go differently this time.

Bruce Wayne steps up again, and more and more I can't shake this feeling that he's got something more to do with this whole mess than he's letting on. He gives a press conference, Mayor Hill standing right next to him, and berates the city administration for allowing itself to become so mired in corruption and greed. Hill has to stand there and take, has to nod along when Wayne demands the heads of any police officer with any hint of the smell of corruption about them.

That part will never stick of course, get rid of the all the corruption in this branch and I'd be manning the entire office with Sarah and only Merkel left as a sergeant. But the most corrupt might finally go, and those left might be left on thinner ice than they're used to. For the first time since I joined the GCPD I start to see a break of light through the murky waters.

All of this is dashed of course when Loeb brings me into his office. Flass is standing behind the desk looking more like hired muscle than an officer about to go on paid administrative leave.

"We would have appreciated the heads up, Jimmy," Loeb begins. "Before you handed half this department to IA on a platter. Those weasels are on a witch hunt now and all because you jumped several guns."

"It was a mistake Commissioner, and I don't have an excuse for it. My team have all been on long hours and little sleep. Things got out of the proper order."

"Sad to hear that Gordon." He sits heavily behind his desk and I try not to react now that he's shifted to my surname. In any other man it might indicate respect. I have a feeling for Loeb it means he's finally seeing me as an enemy. And I don't have near enough clout to stand up against him yet.

"Loyalty Gordon. It means something in this town. Friendship. We didn't have to take you in, blemishes on your career like you had. But we did all the same. And we expected a nod in return."

"I gave you nothing but my best work Commissioner."

"Oh yes, that's what we'll be telling the press. Nothing but your best work. And you do get good press. Even palling around with the billionaire. They'll all hear about your excellent work." He pulled aside a stack of papers to reveal a small stack of photos. "What your wife hears, on the other hand, will be about some of your _other_ work."

For a moment I don't understand, and then I realise what it is I'm looking at. The photographs were taken from across the street, facing the diner where Sarah and I… where _Essen_ and I…

"You gotta love the modern era Jimmy." Loeb leans back with a satisfied smirk. "Can you believe these were taken on Officer Samowitz' phone? Not bad resolution for what used to take a telephoto lens."

He leaned forwards. "Now let's talk again, about these disgusting allegations you've made against Detective Flass. And let's talk about what your wife hears, or doesn't, from this office."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:-** Almost done.

Chapter Seven: Loose Ends

To take my mind off of the storm in my head I decide that now is the perfect time to interview Bruce Wayne regarding what connection he may have, if any, to the Batman.

Trying to get an interview with him has been one of the single hardest endeavours of my policing career. Despite the fact that he seems to be on numerous tv broadcasts and internet videos, whenever I call the manor I am informed that he is out of the country, or nursing a bad case of the flu, or 'entertaining,' said with just the right amount of euphemism that only an English butler can employ.

But day one of police training is that anyone with something to hide will stonewall you, so you learn to deal with it. You learn to be persistent, to be just the right level of annoying. And eventually the butler cedes.

When I arrive at the manor I have to pull an actual rope to sound the bell, which I can hear clanging through the house. After a short pause the door swings open to reveal a tall thin man with a pencil moustache, balding on top but with his hair still dark, only a touch of grey at the temples. He gives me a look I feel should be reserved for murderers and perverts and opens the door wider.

"Please come in Lieutenant." Despite the look his tone was polite and measured. "Master Wayne is taking a refresher in the Blue Room, if you will follow me."

I follow him, surprised at the pace he manages to set while making it appear effortless. We traverse a hallway three times the length of my entire apartment, then through a dozen rooms, some only as big as the entire bull pen, others closer to a theatre hall. Eventually, when I am too lost to even remember the way back to the front door, we enter a large receiving room where Wayne is sprawled on a chaise lounge with a half-naked supermodel. I avert my eyes automatically as she turns to look at me, Wayne rising from under her and pulling his robe tight.

"Police Lieutenant Gordon, sir." If Pennyworth is even fazed he doesn't show it.

"Yes, Gordon, I remember you," he holds out his hand and I shake it, noting with a slight grimace that it seems to be damp. My disgust is slightly lessened when he turns and grabs a bottle of champagne from the side table, condensation on the glass. "Alfred, be a darling and fetch another bottle will you? This one seems to have evaporated." His voice is a touch too loud, and as he turns there's a slip to his step. "And a glass for our guest."

"No, thank you," I say, waving him off. "It's a little too early in the morning for me."

"Very well sir." Pennyworth nods to Bruce and turns smartly on his heel, exiting and closing the double doors behind him.

"Have a seat Gordon." Bruce waves at a luxurious arm chair that sits at a slight angle near to the chaise lounge. He drops down onto the long chair next to the supermodel, who lays back and starts sliding her leg along his back. It's almost impossible not to notice her, topless and exactly like a picture out of a magazine. "You'll have to forgive Yenina, she doesn't speak a word of English." He pours himself what's left of the champagne and sips it. "Now, you wanted to talk to me about this Batman."

I took a deep breath and brought out my notepad, flipping it open. "Mister Wayne, I need to know where you were on the following dates."

/|\

It's easy enough in the end. His days were filled with charity events and board meetings, and his nights were nothing but celebrities and partying. I can't even believe some of the names in his little black book. I even recognise about half the Jennifers, and even one of the Chrises, which is saying something. The butler can vouch for him for the nights, and it's not like I'll be able to chase it up with the actresses.

As I'm driving away from the house I can't help but feel I'm missing something. But if he's acting then he should be up for more Oscars than his harem.

Just driving from the manor to the gate takes me a little over five minutes, and in that time I've reached a decision. If I'm going to be half the man I keep wanting the other officers to be then I have to go ahead with the conviction of Flass, which means when I get home I'm going to have one of the hardest conversations of my life.

/|\

"How was that then Alfred?"

"Positively vaudevillian Master Bruce. Now may I return the club soda to its proper location?"

"Absolutely." I turned back to face the room and smiled to Yenina as she pulls a shirt on.

"Do you want to explain what that was about?" She asked in Spanish. I at least wasn't lying to Gordon about that, she really couldn't speak any English.

"Oh nothing much to worry about." I offer her a broad smile. "You know the sort of wild parties I can get involved in."

"Yes of course, and I suppose those scars come from those parties as well?"

She's entirely too observant. If I wasn't more dedicated to the task at hand I might even have considered something more with her. But she owed me a favour for introducing her to a reputable modelling agency. She had intimated she would have been more than happy to actually engage in half the activities Gordon had believed. It was hard not to be tempted, but as I understood it honesty was a big part of relationships, and that wasn't exactly something I could offer.

"Thanks for your help. Alfred will see you out if you don't mind?"

"Not at all." She stood and nodded to Alfred, who offered her a short bow. "Maybe we can organise another date?"

"We'll have to see."

She follows Alfred out of the room. She'll collect the rest of her clothes, then out the servant's entrance and back into town where she'll be meeting with the agent in question.

I need to get my head back in the game. There's bigger fish than Jefferson Skeevers out there, and I need to prepare for my next target.

/|\

Flass doesn't look the slightest bit perturbed to be in the box facing me and Harvey Dent. It's not entirely standard but I can't trust a single other officer to sit in on the interrogation. The lawyer is pricey, far too pricey for a man on Flass' detective salary. Possibly too pricey even for a man on Flass' actual salary. Someone's covering more than just his back.

"You're looking at ten years Detective," Harvey says, flipping through the file for show. "Skeevers is giving us times, dates, amounts, everything he's got. Now if you want out in anything under five you need to give us something."

"If Skeevers is alive enough to testify," Flass growls.

The lawyer is quick. "My client didn't mean that."

It's enough for me, I know exactly what's going to happen next.

/|\

The same day that Skeevers is put into the infirmary I come home to Barbara on the phone. I just hear her finishing the conversation.

"Yes I am aware of Detective Essen."

I freeze in the doorway, coat half off. My eyes close as I hear her walking out from the kitchen. She hasn't spoken to me since I told her over a week ago. Barbara 2 knows something's up, even though we haven't told her quite yet. I wanted to wait until we had something to tell her about the future, but Barbara and I haven't got that far ourselves yet. The baby is going to be here sometime in the month and I don't even know if we'll last that long.

Barbara goes from the kitchen to the bedroom and I finish taking off my coat, heading for the kitchen myself. Barbara 2 is in the family room, doing some homework. She looks up and smiles at me as I walk by, and I do my best to return it.

I collapse into a chair at the table and try to rub the aches from my forehead. Skeevers went into the hospital shortly after 4am. We're still trying to figure out exactly which one of the guards wasn't involved in the plot. Somehow Dent got him out and got his stomach pumped in time. And somehow, impossibly, he's still eager to testify. Something put the fear of God into him, and I have a horrible suspicion I know what.

"Dad?"

"Hey Barbara 2." It's instinct by now, it comes out all as one word 'barb-ra-too' almost like when she was a baby. "You shouldn't be up much longer."

"I had calc." She comes to sit in the chair next to me. "Be honest dad."

The words I've been dreading for nine days.

"Am I ever really gonna use calc in the real world?"

I could all but cry. I lean forward on the table and reach over to take her hands. "Honestly sweetie? I never have."

"Can I just skip it then?"

"Absolutely."

She smiles at me and starts singing softly. "And if the homework brings you down…"

I finish for her. "Then we'll throw it on the fire and take the car downtown."

The smile fades and she looks away, biting her lip. "Dad…"

"I know."

"What's going to happen with you and mom?"

I've never lied to her, not once, and I'm not about to start now, no matter how much it hurts. "I don't know. But I did something very stupid. And now we just have to see." I squeezed her fingers. "I'm sorry I can't do better than that right now."

"Ok." She squeezed my fingers. "I do need to do this calc homework dad."

"You never know," I said, letting her hands go. "Get into the software game and you'll be using it all the time." I stood and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Don't stay up too late, it's a school night."

"You too daddy."

/|\

Lieutenant Gordon is now my biggest problem in the city. Every dirty cop is running scared from him, and they figure that if they can bag me then they might just save their careers from the chopping block. It's not ideal, but then I get word that Barbara Gordon is heading into labour and into hospital. The timing couldn't be better, she entered the hospital just as night was falling.

"Tonight's target is the Roman," I say to Alfred as he helps me don the costume. We're down in the caves below the manor again. I can get into the suit entirely on my own if necessary, but Alfred has begun to insist on helping. I can't tell if he wants to get involved with my campaign for real now, or if he simply views this as another of his increasingly bizarre set of duties.

"From my understanding Falcone's empire has been significantly wounded by your previous incursions. Is it wise to push him much further?"

"Falcone's empire is close to crumbling, I'm sure of it." I let him affix the cape in place. For tonight I'm using the memory alloy cape. It's bulkier, but I have to get used to using it. And my entrance into Falcone's penthouse will most likely be by air.

"A man like Falcone, if pushed too far, may do rather drastic things to ensure he remains on top. Nobody rises to such a powerful position without a considerable bodycount."

"I have to push him Alfred. Falcone and Maroni equally." I pick up the cowl from the desk and take several deep breaths before pulling it onto my head. It's exactly as I thought it would be, the rubber constricts me in just about every way, it gets hot no matter the weather and turning my head is an issue. But the psychological effect is undeniable.

"Shall I prepare a supper for your return sir?"

"No need Alfred, I can make dinner for myself."

"Very well sir. And I suppose I should wish you a good hunt."

Maybe he is finally coming around to what I'm doing.

/|\

Barbara doesn't want me in the delivery room. I can't help but think back to when Barbara 2 was born. I was right by her side then, holding her hand, helping her in every way I could. Now all I can do is sit out here, chewing the end of my pipe and wishing that everything could be different. Barbara 2 is staying with a friend until the baby is delivered and we know everything is ok.

My phone buzzes and I take it out to see Merkel's number. I answer, thankful for something to take my mind off things.

"It's the Bat sir, they've spotted him. Looks like he's making his way to Falcone's apartment."

I sigh. This is probably the best lead we're going to get for another month at least. But whatever else is going on between Barbara and I, I'm not leaving this hospital.

"Sit on it Merkel. We'll get him another day."

"Understood Gordon. And sir?" It's unusual for Merkel to hang on the line much longer than he has to. "Congratulations sir."

"Thank you Merkel."

/|\

Getting to Falcone's apartment is as easy as I imagined. There are more than enough buildings much higher than Falcone's apartment complex, and getting to the top of them is a simple matter of getting the grapple gun hooked onto higher reaches. Trying it out was another enjoyable day spent with the Gotham fire department, selling them the grapple as a way to get quickly into the upper reaches of burning buildings. Already another dozen are in production, ready to be distributed amongst the fire stations.

I was hoping not to have to use one of the prototypes as Batman until after they had been see in use by the fire department, but I have to chance it. My intelligence suggests that not only is Falcone in his penthouse, but right now Johnny Viti is as well. It's not often that the Roman's nephew is in town, and I can only imagine that he's here this time because of me. I need to hear what the two of them have to say to each other.

Once I reach the top of the Gotham Municipal Bank I have a clear line of flight down to the penthouse. I leap from the edge and snap the cape into shape, holding the gloves uncomfortably against the cape. I've already worked out a modified design, triggered by a button in the gloves, but I've not had time yet to wire it up.

The Roman's penthouse is indicative of his sobriquet. An old fashioned temple stands on the top of the old brick building, out of place even amongst the nostalgic architecture Gotham is noted for. It gives me the perfect landing spot, coming silently onto the old brick as I hear the Roman and his nephew conversing below. I turn off the cape and fall down flat to the ground, pressing in to avoid being seen.

"Have I told you of Horatius?" Falcone says. "One man on a narrow bridge, holding the line against hundreds, until…"

"It has thrilled me every time sir," Johnny says. "I am, of course, yours."

Publius Horatius Cocles, a story I know well. One man holding a bridge to allow his men time to retreat. Interesting that Falcone should mention it now, and especially interesting to cast his own nephew in the role of Horatius. As I recall Horatius ended up crippled for life or dead, depending on who did the telling.

"Mother has said there are several men plaguing you, sir." He has the odd cadence of a man unaccustomed to watching his language. "I need only be told their names."

"Your mother is smart, in her own way. You see Johnny, there are too many people in the world who ask questions, and far, far too many who gives answers." Falcone is drunk, maybe not excessively, but enough to let things slip. Excellent.

"Mother said-"

A sharp crack I recognise as a slap. "We must avoid more bad publicity Johnny. Listen to me. I will tell you what must be done."

As quietly as I can I manoeuvre myself closer to the edge, to let the microphone in my mask have a better chance of picking up what they're saying.

From the edge of the rooftop, commotion. I had noticed the guard there earlier, but he hadn't been looking up.

"Over there, it's-" sharp cracks, fists on a face.

"It's a womarghh." Another guard, and that scream tells me something very unpleasant just happened to him.

The roof explodes into chaos. More men burst out from the service door, armed to the teeth with machine guns. I look over to where the two guards fell, and see a lithe figure dancing between them. She lashes out and the first guard joins his friend on the floor, clutching at his face.

Two guards have the drop on her, Falcone and Viti coming out of the temple dressed in towels, clearly coming from a sauna. She crouches low and bares actual claws. She's in a costume almost as absurd as mine. A mask and helmet that looks like it has cat ears on it, motorcycle leathers on something similar covering her from neck to knee and heavy motorcycle boots. I can't imagine she's got space under the skin-tight costume for much armour.

The men are all shouting, but I can pick Falcone out. "You work for the Bat! I want her alive. In pain."

 _Damnit._

I grab for the darts and rise into a crouch. Viti has a knife, the two guards are armed with machine pistols, Ingrams. Not the most accurate if they're at full-auto, but the guards are less than ten feet away from her.

Falcone looks back to Johnny. "Johnny?"

The woman actually hisses. "You don't have a chance."

I make my move, one dart for guard number one, one dart for Johnny. The guard goes down on his face. Johnny's towel comes off as he falls, which seems appropriate for the absurdity of the situation. I leap from the temple roof, spreading the cape wide and coming crashing down right next to the second guard.

His eyes almost bug out of his sockets. He seems to forget he's holding a gun and takes a wild swing at me with his free hand. I dodge it easily and trap his gun-hand, breaking his trigger finger before wrenching the pistol away from him. A simple palm strike to the jaw sends him crashing to the floor.

Spinning round I see that the woman has brought down Falcone. I can't tell if he's even alive but she's crouching over him, running her claws over his face.

"Get off him." The vocal transformer surprises me for a moment. I've still got it set on the lowest possible setting. If it phases her she doesn't show it.

"If you've killed him…" I drop another dart into my palm. An abstract, distracted part of my mind tells me I should consider something more dramatic for this purpose as well. Maybe a bat shaped projectile? But the rest of me stays focused on her body language. It's eerily calm. Every other criminal I've faced, even the toughened gangsters, show some sign of worry when I face them.

"He's alive." Her voice is deep, local accent, though she's doing her best to hide it. She's left her chin and jaw uncovered, letting me see that she's not white, though more than that is impossible to determine in the dim light.

"Why are you here?"

"I have business with Falcone."

"You got in the way of mine."

"I don't care."

I return the dart to the pouch on my belt. Straightening I let the cape fall round my shoulders and cover me to the floor. She straightens as well. I note that she would be an inch or two taller than me if I weren't wearing lifts in my boots. Her gloves are hand-made, the claws added to simple motorcycle gloves, the ears hand crafted out of some sort of foam or rubber.

"Don't get in my way again." I deepen my own voice, and the vocal transformer translates it into a rumbling growl.

"Are you intending to stop me?"

I don't have an answer for her. Instead I turn and stride quickly for the edge of the building, launching myself off it and snapping the cape once more to flight mode. This calls for new tactics.

 **AN:-** I love Catwoman, one of my favourite characters.

I decided not to write the actual conversation between Gordon and Barbara. I couldn't imagine exactly how it might go, I wasn't sure I could handle it very well, and of course for the story to work the way it's supposed to she has to stay with him, and I couldn't really figure out a way to make that seem realistic. I know it happens all the time in the real world, and with much worse cheating than a kiss, but I have no experience of it happening to me.

The moment between Jim and Barbara 2 is possibly my favourite moment out of this entire story so far. The song they sing together is David Bowie's 'Kooks,' which he wrote for his son just after he was born. It's a very sweet song. Of course the little joke about Barbara getting into the software game is a reference to her later role as Oracle.

In the original comic, since the perspective shifts to more than simply Jim or Bruce, we see the birth of Catwoman, and why she's doing what she's doing, but in my fic Batman has no idea who she is, until she suddenly shows up on Falcone's roof. I think I prefer keeping Catwoman mysterious for now, as she won't have the same origin as Catwoman from the Year One comic.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Alliance

"Quiet Alfred."

He's reading from the morning newspaper while I train and listen to my recordings from the night.

"You really ought to read this article on sleep deprivation sir, it's a fascinating read."

"If only that woman hadn't been there. The Roman was just about to tell his nephew…" One armed push ups are easy enough for me, but they serve well as a warmup.

"Marked increase in paranoia. Hmm."

The audio recording restarts again. "Mother is well sir. She sends her deepest devotion. She prays for your continued success."

"I should've crippled the Roman's nephew." The mood has been with me all day so far. "Would've bought us some time."

"Tendency towards aberrant, even violent behaviour."

"We must avoid more bad publicity."

That's the most important part. The part that tells me Falcone is about to fight back, in some way. "He'd have gotten somebody else. At least now I know who he's using." I shut off the recording and fall into cat's pose. "He doesn't want bad publicity. It follows that he won't murder anyone. That leaves blackmail, or…"

It hits me. Sending a message. It's the oldest trick in the gangster's playbook. And if he can't get to the Batman, then it serves to reason he'll be going after the only other man in Gotham who's taking a stand against him.

I rise and head for the nearest bathroom. Alfred calls after me. "Off again sir? Shall I fetch the costume?"

"Never during the day Alfred."

/|\

I'm woken by the baby's scream. Not that it takes much to wake me. The couch isn't the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements, but I count myself lucky I'm not in a hotel. Ever since our son was born, Barbara has begun to talk to me again. I'm beginning to believe that maybe we can get ourselves out of this.

I pad softly through the house to the crib, taking James carefully out and heading back for the kitchen. His cries descend into mewling and squalls, still loud enough that I know both Barbaras will be awake. Back in the kitchen I get his bottle into the microwave and start heating it.

"Easy now." I bounce him with practiced ease. "Nearly there."

Which is of course when the phone rings. I sigh and pick it up, managing to juggle it to my ear. "Yes?"

"Jimmy! Glad you're up. Got a witness for the Charles case, just come in."

"Sir, Merkel is the duty sergeant, he can handle it."

"Merkel's on another call. Normally I'd send Flass, but well now…"

I understand it perfectly now. Just another part of my punishment, for as long as Loeb is in charge he'll be riding me like this. "Yes sir, I'm on my way."

The microwave dings and I glare at it. I fish the bottle out and set it to James' mouth. He takes to it happily as I head through to the master bedroom. Barbara 1 is awake, staring at the door. She blanches a little when I come in.

"I have to go, I'm sorry. Can you take care of him?"

"Of course." She props herself up and takes him from me. I find trousers and a shirt and make my way out.

I'm grumbling all the way down to the car. Third rate witness in an open and shut nickel and dime domestic case. Loeb knows I'm only on two hours sleep.

As I pulled out of the garage and started heading out to the precinct a motorcycle tore past me going nearly twenty over the limit. I swerved to avoid it. The driver was going like a bat out of hell, on any other day I'd chase after him, but I want to get back to James as soon as possible.

That's when it hits me. He's heading straight for my apartment complex. Oldest trick in the book. Pointless call to get me out of the house, standard distraction tactics. Barbara, James. I bring the car round in smoking rubber and get back into my garage as fast as I can, almost falling out of the door with my gun drawn.

No sign of the motorcycle, but there's plenty of places for him to hide in here. I sweep my gun left and right, and that's when I hear the cry.

Over in the corner, a car, two men, dragging Barbara into the car, in the gloom I can see one of them has James, a knife to his throat.

"Drop the gun lieutenant," he calls, the accent immediately pegging him as a mafioso. "Go to your office, wait for our call."

Not likely.

I open fire. The pistol shudders and I watch in disgust as one of the men holding Barbara jerks backwards, the back of his head exploding outwards. The second man lets go of her to draw his gun, and she dives for cover. Smart move. I fire again, not able to risk a wounding shot. He's fast though, and I'm too tired to aim straight. The bullet catches my arm, pushes me back, throws my aim off for just long for him to jump into the car and slam the door.

My bullets are stopped by bulletproof glass and the car peels out. Behind me I hear the motorcycle starts. The driver has to be with them. I put a round into his chest and he reels off the bike, leaving it running. I run to it, swinging a leg over and settling into the seat. It's been at least a decade since I rode, I just have to hope I remember enough.

Tyres scream and I pull out after the car.

/|\

Gordon's a good shot. Bullet would have gone clean into my heart if I hadn't been wearing my vest. I yank my helmet off to breathe. Still one rib probably gone.

"Don't move."

Mrs Gordon has the dead mook's gun. Smart move. The way she's holding it on me tells me she has training. Her eyes say she's willing to pull the trigger.

"You have to trust me," I choke out. "I won't let your baby die."

/|\

I haven't been counting shots, but the slide hasn't locked back yet. On the bike I catch the car easily, just as we're hitting the bridge. I empty the pistol and manage to hit one of the tyres, blowing it completely. The driver slams on the brakes and my heart stops. He's going too fast, already on the verge of losing control. The car swerves, slams into the side of the bridge, metal rends and the windshield explodes. I leap from the bike before it's come to a complete halt. I can't hear James crying.

As I reach the car the door slams against my chest, throwing me down. My pistol spins out of my grip and I land hard, scraping the skin from my palm. I try and clamber back to my feet when a shoe slams into my side and I choke out a cough. I manage to get to my feet. He's big, strong too, a knife in one hand and James in the other.

He goes for me and I manage to trap his arm, forcing it away. I can't land a solid hit on him, not with James in the way. He forces me backwards, slamming me against the metal railings. My back burns, my arm is giving way, the knife driving down to my face. I shove my other hand into his face, trying to dig my fingers into his eyes. His weight presses down on me. Bringing me almost to my knees.

The knife is less than an inch away and I strike on instinct, cracking my palm against the side of his jaw. He reels back and it happens. He throws his left arm out, and James flies out of his grip. I snatch wildly, but there's nothing I can do.

I'm vaguely aware of a scream, I think it might be me. The world twists and I'm weightless, watching my son fall. The big man is falling with me, screaming as well.

A dark blur whips past us, envelops my son, and then we crash down hard. The river bank is soft mud, and by some miracle I've landed partially in the water. I go under, submerged completely for barely a moment. The big man was under me when we hit, absorbing most of the force of the impact. I push off from him, breaching the water and hacking out a throatful of scummy water,

"James!" I yell, swiping my arm across my eyes. My glasses have come loose somewhere in the scuffle. "James!"

A baby's cry. My son's cry. I fall to my knees, tears streaming down my face. The dark blur in front of resolves into a man's shape.

"Your baby is safe." His voice is deep, a heavy Boston accent. No one I recognise. He holds out and through the mud and the fuzziness I see a blue bundle in his arms, wailing and kicking. I take him and hold him close against me.

My mind is racing, but there's always a part of me, the cop part, that can't help but put pieces together. It's blurry, but I can see the hole in his jacket. "You must be wearing some kind of armour under that jacket."

"Yes."

If I look up I could see his face. Could maybe make it out clearly enough to know for sure. It has to be him. Instead I stand, wiping my forehead and turning partly away. Height is about right, dark hair as well.

"You know…" I don't want to know. Not today. Not after what he's just done. "I'm practically blind without my glasses." He turns as well, shielding his face with a gloved hand. "I hear sirens. You'd better go."

Footsteps splash and he disappears from my sight. I slog through to the bank, finding a set of steps that will lead me back up to the street. There's a lot of unconscious or dead bodies my colleagues are going to want to handle.

 **AN:-** And that's all she wrote. I kept this as a short chapter just to round out the Year One storyline, then a very brief epilogue to set up the partnership properly.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: The Calling Card

Flass turned out to be smart. I would never have imagined it.

He wrote down everything. And I do mean everything. Every little talk with Loeb, every time he'd gone out and spoken to someone on behalf of the District Attorney. Dates. Times. The works. After he realised that the hit on my family wasn't going to work he remembered where he had all those notes kept.

The DA is out. This goes all the way to the state level in most cases. Dent is promoted to Acting District Attorney for the trials. He takes to it like a duck to water, nailing everyone he can. Unfortunately that won't amount to much more than the mid-level guys, but that's still higher than we'd have had a chance with before.

Loeb is still in, but every word is that he's discussing his resignation with the Mayor. I don't know how Hill has managed to hold onto the job, I can only imagine it involves deals made on a much higher level. We've still got the corrupt judges. This isn't a thing that can be cut out overnight. I thought it once before, that if you took out all of the corrupt police in the GCPD you'd be left with me and Merkel manning the phones. The worst of the worst will go, I'm a little surprised to see that Bullock has kept his nose clean of the corruption. He might be a thug hiding brutality behind a badge, but he never took a dirty cent as far as I can tell. Grogan looks primed to take over from Loeb. That's not a good sign, but he's been Teflon since day one. Slick Pete.

On the mob front, the Batman seems to have made some real headway. The Roman is at war with his sister. Seems as though he tried to get a knife put to Johnny Viti while he was in the can. I remember his sister from my days in Chicago, I do not envy Falcone that fight.

One upshot to all of this is that everyone was far too tied up to dispute my promotion to Captain. That's still not sitting well with me yet, but I have a feeling I can grow into it. Essen's gone, which can only be for the best. Barbara and I are seeing a marriage councillor. She's not thrilled, I'm even less so, but maybe there's still a chance.

My concern is back with the Red Hood. But with the department in such chaos I need someone who I can actually rely on. And isn't that an ironic statement given the last few months. I've been leaving post-it notes pretty much wherever I go, with a small symbol of a bat scribbled on them. I don't have any other way to get in touch with him yet, I can only hope he's keeping an eye on me.

Boots on concrete behind me, the rustle of a cape. I turn and he's there, barely feet from me. I have no idea how he got so close, but I manage to keep my surprise off my face.

"You called?" I search for a hint of that Boston drawl, but there's not even a hint of it. The voice is modulated, far deeper than a normal human range.

/|\

Gordon manages to hide his shock well. I see it in the stiffening of his body language. I try and keep mine relaxed, but it's a challenge. "You called?" I ask, hearing the voice rumble out. I have it set to mask my voice of course, but not so deep as to provoke a physiological or psychological response from him.

He takes a deep breath, and for the first time since I have begun this mad quest I feel a twinge of hope.

"We need to talk."

 **AN:-** And thus ends the Batman Year One storyline, sometime around April of the actual first year. As I discussed in an earlier author's note the timeline had to be truncated to make things make sense. The Long Halloween storyline has to begin in October of his first year, but in the Long Halloween storyline are multiple villain characters who need to be introduced between Year One and Long Halloween. Poison Ivy, Riddler, Mad Hatter, Joker and more all feature in Long Halloween,so the next few chapter of this fanfiction will deal with their first introductions.

I hope you've enjoyed my adaptation of Year One though, and will return for more later!


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